Emily Dickinson Quotes
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The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.
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'Faith' is a fine invention When Gentlemen can see - But Microscopes are prudent In an Emergency.
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It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness - I’m so accustomed to my Fate - Perhaps the Other - Peace - Would interrupt the Dark - And crowd the little Room - Too scant - by Cubits - to contain The Sacrament - of Him - I am not used to Hope - It might intrude upon - Its sweet parade - blaspheme the place - Ordained to Suffering - It might be easier To fail - with Land in Sight - Than gain - My Blue Peninsula - To perish - of Delight -
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Two Seasons, it is said, exist- The Summer of the Just, And this of Ours, diversified With Prospect, and with Frost- May not our Second with its First So infinite compare That We but recollect the one The other to prefer?
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More than the Grave is closed to me -The Grave and that EternityTo which the Grave adheres -I cling to nowhere till I fall -The Crash of nothing, yet of all -How similar appears -
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The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry's cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf, The field a scarlet gown. Lest I should be old-fashioned, I'll put a trinket on.
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I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!
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Portraits are to daily faces As an evening west To a fine, pedantic sunshine In a satin vest.
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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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A Clock stopped-- Not the Mantel's-- Geneva's farthest skill Can't put the puppet bowing-- That just now dangled still
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Where thou art, that is home.
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I never had a mother. I suppose a mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.
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It tossed and tossed,- A little brig I knew,- O’ertook by blast, It spun and spun, And groped delirious, for morn.It slipped and slipped, As one that drunken stepped; Its white foot tripped, Then dropped from sight.Ah, brig, good-night To crew and you; The ocean’s heart too smooth, too blue, To break for you.
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Celebrity is the chastisement of merit and the punishment of talent.
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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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Love is done when Loves begun, Sages say, But have Sages known?
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Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
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Dying is a wild night and a new road.
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There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
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Not with a Club, the Heart is broken Nor with a Stone - A Whip so small you could not see it I've knownTo lash the Magic Creature Till it fell, Yet that Whip's Name Too noble then to tell.Magnanimous as Bird By Boy descried - Singing unto the Stone Of which it died -Shame need not crouch In such an Earth as Ours - Shame - stand erect - The Universe is yours.
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Upon the gallows hung a wretch, Too sullied for the hell To which the law entitled him. As nature’s curtain fell The one who bore him tottered in, For this was woman’s son. '’T was all I had,' she stricken gasped; Oh, what a livid boon!
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The only Commandment I ever obeyed — 'Consider the Lilies.
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The Loneliness One dare not sound -- And would as soon surmise AS in its Grave go plumbing To ascertain the size -- The Loneliness whose worst alarm Is lest itself should see -- And perish from before itself For just a scrutiny -- The Horror not to be surveyed -- But skirted in the Dark -- With Consciousness suspended -- And Being under Lock -- I fear me this -- is Loneliness -- The Maker of the soul Its Caverns and its Corridors Illuminate -- or seal