Emily Dickinson Quotes
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A dim capacity for wings demeans the dress I wear.
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If your Nerve, deny you - Go above your Nerve
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Some Days retired from the rest In soft distinction lie, The Day that a companion came- Or was obliged to die.
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To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,What must the Midnights - be!
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I must go in, the fog is rising.
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It ’s such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die!
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My Faith is larger than the Hills— So when the Hills decay— My Faith must take the Purple Wheel To show the Sun the way— 'Tis first He steps upon the Vane— And then — upon the Hill— And then abroad the World He go To do His Golden Will— And if His Yellow feet should miss— The Bird would not arise— The Flowers would slumber on their Stems— No Bells have Paradise— How dare I, therefore, stint a faith On which so vast depends— Lest Firmament should fail for me— The Rivet in the Bands
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My friends are my 'estate.' Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them.
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'Faith' is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see - But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
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Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.
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This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me - The simple News that Nature told - With tender MajestyHer Message is committed To Hands I cannot see - For love of Her - Sweet - countrymen - Judge tenderly - of Me
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Dreams - are well - but Waking's better, If One wake at Morn - If One wake at Midnight - better - Dreaming - of the Dawn.
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In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.
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The minister today preached about death and judgment, and what would become of those who behaved improperly - and somehow it scared me. He preached such an awful sermon I didn't think I should ever see you again until the Judgment Day. The subject of perdition seemed to please him somehow.
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Dreams are the subtle Dower That make us rich an Hour Then fling us poor Out of the purple door.
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Mine enemy is growing old,- I have at last revenge. The palate of the hate departs; If any would avenge,-Let him be quick, the viand flits, It is a faded meat. Anger as soon as fed is dead; ’T is starving makes it fat.
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
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LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!
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How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And does n’t care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.
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I am one of the lingering bad ones, and so do I slink away, and pause, and ponder, and ponder, and pause, and do work without knowing why - not surely for this brief world, and more sure it is not for heaven - and I ask what this message of Christ means.
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A little Madness in the SpringIs wholesome even for the King.
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He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.
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To ignore or use silence is a cruel tool. Hence this quote: Silence is all we dread; there's ransom in a voice; but silence is infinity.
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How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.