Emily Dickinson Quotes
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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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A Grave - is a restricted Breadth -Yet ampler than the Sun -And all the Seas He populatesAnd lands he looks uponTo Him who on its small ReposeBestows a single Friend -Circumference without Relief -Or Estimate - or End
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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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Time is short and full, like an outgrown Frock -
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Where thou art, that is home.
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A little madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown, Who ponders this tremendous scene-- This whole experiment in green, As if it were his own!
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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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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Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy, And I am richer then than all my Fellow Men-.
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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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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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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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What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?
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Dying is a wild night and a new road.
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation-.
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She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.
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I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.
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A great hope fell You heard no noise The ruin was within.
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To lose ones faith-surpass The loss of an Estate- Because Estates can be Replenished- faith cannot-.
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Witchcraft was hung, in History, But History and I Find all the Witchcraft that we need Around us, every Day -
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Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.
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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 power of Butterfly must be - The Aptitude to fly Meadows of Majesty concedes And easy Sweeps of Sky -