Quotes from Emily Dickinson

Was dying as he thought, or different; Was it a pleasant day to die, And did the sunshine face his way?

I took my power in my hand And went against the world;

Remember and care for me sometimes, and scatter a fragrant flower in this wilderness life of mine by writing me.

If your Nerve, deny you – Go above your Nerve –

Could mortal lip divine The undeveloped freight Of a delivered syllable, 'T would crumble with the weight.

A WORD is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day.

I could not die with you, For one must wait To shut the other's gaze down,— You could not.

Ma Rivière coule vers Toi - Mer bleue - Veux-tu m'accueillir ? Ma Rivière attend une réponse. Ô Mer - montre-toi bienveillante ! J'irai te chercher des Ruisseaux Dans des vallons diaprés - Allez Mer - tu me prends ?

I felt a clearing in my mind As if my brain had split ; I tried to match it, seam by seam, But could not make them fit. The thought behind I strove to join Unto the thought before, But sequence ravelled out of reach Like balls upon a floor.

The Loneliness One dare not sound— ... The Horror not to be surveyed—

Will there really be a Morning? Is there such a thing as Day? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like Water lilies? Has it feathers like a Bird? Is it brought from famous countries Of which I have never heard? Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor! Oh some Wise Men from the skies! Please to tell a little Pilgrim Where the place called Morning lies!

The Brain — is wider than the Sky —

Who counts the wampum of the night to see that none is due?

Who never wanted, ? maddest joy Remains to him unknown ; The banquet of abstemiousness Surpasses that of wine. Within its hope, though yet ungrasped Desire's perfect goal, No nearer, lest reality Should disenthrall thy soul.

Because I could not stop for death He kindly stopped for me

Poiché non potevo fermarmi per la Morte, lei gentilmente si fermò per me. La carrozza non portava che noi due, e l'immortalità.

Few get enough, ? enough is one ; To that ethereal throng Have not each one of us the right To stealthily belong ?

La genciana trenza sus bordes, el telar del arce está rojo. Mis flores moribundas eluden la ostentación.

Morii per la bellezza ma ero appena abituata alla tomba che uno che morì per la verità fu deposto in una stanza attigua Mi chiese piano "Perché sei mancata?" "Per la bellezza" risposi "E io per la verità sono una cosa sola noi siamo fratelli" disse Così, come congiunti che si incontrino di notte parlammo fra le stanze finché il muschio raggiunse le nostre labbra e coprì i nostri nomi.

He lived where dreams were sown. His presence is enchantment, You beg him not to go; Old volumes shake their vellum heads And tantalize, just so.

Hope is the thing with feathers. Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

There is no frigate like a book, to take us lands away.

REMORSE. Remorse is memory awake, Her companies astir, — A presence of departed acts At window and at door. It's past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch. Remorse is cureless, — the disease Not even God can heal; For 't is his institution, — The complement of hell.

No rack can torture me, My soul's at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one You cannot prick with saw, Nor rend with scymitar. Two bodies therefore be; Bind one, and one will flee. The eagle of his nest No easier divest And gain the sky, Than mayest thou, Except thyself may be Thine enemy; Captivity is consciousness, So's liberty.