Quotes from Emily Dickinson

God is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him! The charms of the heaven in the bush are superseded, I fear, by the heaven in the hand, occasionally.

The Things that never can come back, are several- Childhood-some forms of Hope-the Dead- Though Joys-like Men-may sometimes make a Journey- And still abide-.

Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

The sun just touched the morning; The morning, happy thing, Supposed that he had come to dwell, And life would be all spring.

The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee-.

[A] mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

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.

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!

Nature is what we see - the hill, the afternoon, squirrel, eclipse, the bumblebee. Nay, nature is heaven. Nature is what we hear...

There is no Silence in the Earth - so silent As that endured Which uttered, would discourage Nature And haunt the World.

The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.

I like a look of agony, because I know it's true

And then--a Day as huge As Yesterdays in pairs, Unrolled its horror in my face-- Until it blocked my eyes

After a hundred years Nobody knows the place, Agony, that enacted there, Motionless as peace.

We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.

To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie— True Poems flee—

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

A wounded dear leaps the highest

Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul...

It was not Death, for I stood up, And all the Dead, lie down—It was not Night, for all the BellsPut out their Tongues, for Noon.

The Spirit lurks within the Flesh Like Tides within the Sea That make the Water live, estranged What would the Either be?

This World is not Conclusion. A Sequel stands beyond- Invisible, as Music- But positive, as Sound.

Art is a house that tries to be haunted.