Quotes from Emily Dickinson

We are the only poets," Emily told Susan, "and everyone else is prose.

Let us strive together to part with time more reluctantly, to watch the pinions of the fleeting moment until they are dim in the distance, and the new-coming moment claims our attention.

The heart asks pleasure first, And then, excuse from pain; And then, those little anodynes That deaden suffering; And then, to go to sleep; And then, if it should be The will of its Inquisitor, The liberty to die.

The hallowing of Pain Like hallowing of Heaven, Obtains at a corporeal cost -- The Summit is not given to Him who strives severe At middle of the Hill -- But He who has achieved the Top -- All -- is the price of All

What need of Day - To Those whose Dark - hath so - surpassing Sun - It deem it be - Continually - At the Meridian?

it perished with beautiful reluctance, like an evening star—

Water is taught by thirst; Land, by the oceans passed; Transport, by throe; Peace, by its battles told; Love, by memorial mould; Birds, by the snow.

Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it.

BEQUEST. You left me, sweet, two legacies, — A legacy of love A Heavenly Father would content, Had He the offer of; You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.

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!

This world is just a little place, just the red in the sky, before the sun rises, so let us keep fast hold of hands, that when the birds begin, none of us be missing.

Much Madness is divinest Sense - To a discerning Eye - Much Sense - the starkest Madness -

When I lost the use of my Eyes it was a comfort to think there were so few real books that I could easily find some one to read me all of them.

Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The Carriage held but just Ourselves And Immortality.

A little road not made of man, Enabled of the eye, Accessible to thill of bee, Or cart of butterfly. If town it have, beyond itself, 'T is that I cannot say; I only sigh,—no vehicle Bears me along that way.

Did you ever read one of her Poems backward, because the plunge from the front overturned you? I sometimes (often have, many times) have - A something overtakes the Mind.

Forever is composed of nows

Who robbed the woods, The trusting woods? The unsuspecting trees Brought out their burrs and mosses His fantasy to please. He scanned their trinkets, curious, He grasped, he bore away. What will the solemn hemlock, What will the fir-tree say?

Poor little heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little heart! Did they forsake thee? Be debonair! Be debonair! Frail little heart! I would not break thee: Could'st credit me? Could'st credit me? Gay little heart! Like morning glory Thou'll wilted be; thou'll wilted be!

Safe Despair it is that raves— Agony is frugal. Puts itself severe away For its own perusal.

So we must meet apart— You there—I—here With just the Door ajar That Oceans are—and Prayer— And that White Sustenance— Despair— — Emily Dickinson, from "I Cannot Live with You," The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (Little,Brown and Company, 1960)

Yo no soy nadie, ¿y tú? ¿No eres nadie tampoco? Entonces somos dos, guarda el secreto. Ya sabes que podrían desterrarnos.

I notice where Death has been introduced, he frequently calls, making it desirable to forestall his advances.

Love's stricken why Is all that love can speak— Built of but just a syllable, The hugest hearts that break.