Quotes from Emily Dickinson

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think

We never know how high we are, until we are called to rise. And then if we are true to plan, our statures tough the skies.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches on the soul, And sings the tune without words, And never stops at all.

Hope" is the thing with feathers –

Non parlavo mai - se non sollecitata. In quei casi - brevemente - a voce bassa. Non mi riusciva di vivere nella confusione. Mi vergognavo del chiasso.

Her breast is fit for pearls, But I was not a "Diver" – Her brow is fit for thrones But I have not a crest. Her heart is fit for home – I – a Sparrow- build there Sweet of twigs and twine My perennial nest

We never know how high we are until we are called to rise, and then if we are true to plan, out statures touch the skies.

XVI: A BOOK. There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll; How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul!

If you were coming in the fall, I'd brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spurn, As housewives do a fly. If I could see you in a year, I'd wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls. If only centuries delayed, I'd count them on my hand, Subtracting till my fingers dropped Into Van Diemen's land. If certain, when this life was out, That yours and mine should be, I'd toss it yonder like a rind, And taste eternity.

No hay una fragata como un libro para llevarnos a tierras lejanas, ni caballos mejores que una página de piafante poesía. Pueden hacer el viaje los más pobres, no se pagan portazgos, porque no necesita casi nada la carroza que lleva al alma humana.

Better an ignis fatuus Than no illume at all -

That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love; It is enough, the freight should be Proportioned to the groove.

I'm Nobody! Who are you? Are you—Nobody—Too?

The Brain—is wider than the Sky— For—put them side by side— The one the other will contain With ease—and you—beside—

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. —Emily Dickinson

It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet

Pero con quien cavila mientras el resto no deja de parlotear, con esta persona soy cautelosa. Temo que sea una gran persona.

A horror so refined

To pile like Thunder to its close, Then crumble grand away, While everything created hid — This would be Poetry: Or Love, — the two coeval came — We both and neither prove, Experience either, and consume — For none see God and live.

Some things that fly there be, — Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:

I know some lonely houses off the road

I'll tell you how the sun rose, — A ribbon at a time.

In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.

Surgeons must be very careful When they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions Stirs the Culprit-Life!