Emily Dickinson Quotes
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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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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
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Dying is a wild night and a new road.
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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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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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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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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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I miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.
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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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Suspense-is Hostiler than Death-Death- tho soever Broad, Is just Death, and cannot increase- Suspense-does not conclude-.
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Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.
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The power to console is not within corporeal reach - though its attempt is precious.
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You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.
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We meet no Stranger, but Ourself.
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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Some keep the Sabbath going to Church -I keep it, staying at Home-With a Bobolink for a Chorister -And an Orchard, for a Dome-
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Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
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Where thou art, that is home.
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I had been hungry all the years- My noon had come, to dine- I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, 'Twas so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,-- Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.
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Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.
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Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile – the winds – To a heart in port – Done with the compass – Done with the chart! Rowing in Eden – Ah, the sea! Might I moor – Tonight – In thee!
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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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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Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.