Emily Dickinson Quotes
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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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What will the solemn Hemlock- What will the Oak tree say?
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A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld,— The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies,— Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.
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A great hope fell You heard no noise The ruin was within.
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Dogs are better than human beings because they know but do not tell.
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And then--a Day as huge As Yesterdays in pairs, Unrolled its horror in my face-- Until it blocked my eyes
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A power of Butterfly must be - The Aptitude to fly Meadows of Majesty concedes And easy Sweeps of Sky -
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A sick room is at times too sacred a place for a friend's knock, timid as that is.
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In this short life that only lasts ah hour how much-how little-is within our power.
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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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God, keep me from what they call 'households'.
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If I can stop one heart from breaking…” Emily Dickinson If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.
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Nature is our eldest mother; she will do no harm.
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How lucious lies the pea within the pod.
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We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—
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Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
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His Labor is a Chant - His Idleness -a Tune - Oh, for a Bee's experience Of Clovers, and of Noon!
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Angels in the early morning may be seen the dews among. Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying. Do the buds to them belong?
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I stepped from Plank to Plank A slow and cautious way
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It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still.
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The Brain is just the weight of God-- For--Heft them--Pound for Pound-- And they will differ--if they do-- As Syllable from Sound
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I don't profess to be profound; but I do lay claim to common sense.
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... I have no letter from the dead, yet daily love them more.
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Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. ’T is the majority In this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; Demur,-you ’re straightway dangerous, And handled with a chain.