Emily Dickinson Quotes
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My friends are my 'estate.' Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them.
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Death is a supple suitor, that wins at last. It is a stealthy wooing; conducted first by pallid innuendos and dim approach, but brave at last with bugles.
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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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I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
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To possess is past the instant; we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.
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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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Fate slew him, but he did not drop; She felled-he did not fall- Impaled him on her fiercest stakes- He neutralized them all.She stung him, sapped his firm advance, But, when her worst was done, And he, unmoved, regarded her, Acknowledged him a man.
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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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The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.
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Truth is so rare that it is delightful to tell it.
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A Vastness, as a Neighbor, came,A Wisdom, without Face, or Name,A Peace, as Hemispheres at HomeAnd so the Night became.
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Could Hope inspect her BasisHer Craft were done -Has a fictitious CharterOr it has none -Balked in the vastest instanceBut to renew -Felled but by one assassin -Prosperity -
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A little Madness in the SpringIs wholesome even for the King.
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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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The only secret people keep is immortality.
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Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.
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The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
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How much can come And much can go, And yet abide the world!
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A narrow Fellow in the Grass Occasionally rides
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Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
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How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.
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She dealt her pretty words like Blades -- How glittering they shone -- And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone -- She never deemed -- she hurt -- That -- is not Steel's Affair -- A vulgar grimace in the Flesh -- How ill the Creatures bear -- To Ache is human -- not polite -- The Film upon the eye Mortality's old Custom -- Just locking up -- to Die.
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His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
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I confess that I love him, I rejoice that I love him, I thank the maker of Heaven and Earth that gave him to me. The exultation floods me.