Emily Dickinson Quotes
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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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Why should we censure Othello when the Criterion Lover says, "Thou shalt have no other Gods before Me"?
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What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?
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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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Time is short and full, like an outgrown Frock -
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Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies.
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That it will never come again is what makes life sweet.
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To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
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He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.
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Other Courtesies have been - Other Courtesy may be - We commend ourselves to thee Paragon of Chivalry.
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Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
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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 am growing handsome very fast indeed! I expect I shall be the belle of Amherst when I reach my 17th year. I don't doubt that I shall have perfect crowds of admirers at that age. Then how I shall delight to make them await my bidding, and with what delight shall I witness their suspense while I make my final decision.
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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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I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
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They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse.
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Dying is a wild night and a new road.
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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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Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.
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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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Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.
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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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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!