Emily Dickinson Quotes
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I had no time to hate, because The grave would hinder me, And life was not so ample I Could finish enmity Nor had I time to love: but since Some industry must be, The little toil of love, I thought, Was large enough for me.
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Forever is composed of Nows 'Tis not a different time Except for Infiniteness And Latitude of Home.
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November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
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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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In this short life that only lasts ah hour how much-how little-is within our power.
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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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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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It is finished, is never said of us.
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It is essential to the sanity of mankind that each one should think the other crazy - a condition with which the cynicism of human nature so cordially complies, one could wish it were a concurrence upon a subject more noble.
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A Murmur in the Trees - to note - Not loud enough - for Wind - A Star - not far enough to seek - Nor near enough - to find
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You'll find it-when you try to die- The Easier to let go- For recollecting such as went- You could not spare-you know.
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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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I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you – Nobody – too? Then there's a pair of us? Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know! How dreary – to be – Somebody! How public – like a Frog – To tell one's name – the livelong June – To an admiring Bog!
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Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.
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Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue.
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I don't profess to be profound; but I do lay claim to common sense.
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Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea Past the houses, past the headlands Into deep eternity! Bred as we, among the mountains Can the sailor understand The divine intoxication Of the first league out from land?
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Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
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Action is redemption.
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Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.
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When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.
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The past is not a package one can lay away.
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Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, But which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring ,Its summer blossoms scent the air; Yet wait till winter comes again, And who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, And deck thee with holly's sheen, That, when December blights thy brow, He still may leave thy garland green.
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The vastest earthly Day Is shrunken small By one Defaulting Face Behind a Pall.