Quotes from Emily Dickinson

The Truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.

Besides the autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the haze...

...his babbling, berry lips...

The bat is dun with wrinkled wings Like fallow article, And not a song pervades his lips, Or none perceptible. His small umbrella, quaintly halved, Describing in the air An arc alike inscrutable, – Elate philosopher! Deputed from what firmament Of what astute abode, Empowered with what malevolence Auspiciously withheld. To his adroit Creator Ascribe no less the praise; Beneficent, believe me, His eccentricities.

Hanging my head and my heart with it, that you sorrowed alone...

I am glad it is your birthday. It is this little bouquet's birthday too. Its Father is a very old man by the name of Nature...

Panting to help the dear ones and yet not knowing how, lest any voice bereave them... One who only said "I am sorry" helped me the most when father ceased — it was too soon for language.

The butterfly upon the sky, who doesn't know its name, And hasn't any tax to pay, and hasn't any home, Is just as high as you and I, and higher, I believe – So soar away and never sigh, for that's the way to grieve.

Where Thou art – that – is Home... Where Thou art not – is Wo...

I like a look of Agony, because I know it's true - men do not sham Convulsion, nor simulate, a Throe

Till it has loved, no man or woman can become itself.

Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.

His mind of man, a secret makes I meet him with a start he carries a circumference in which I have no part.

A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men

Since I have no sweet flower to send you, I enclose my heart.

Are you sure we are making the most of it?

If recollecting were forgetting Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot!...

When Memory rings her bell, let all the thoughts run in.

I'm nobody, who are you?

Spring is a happiness so beautiful, so unique, so unexpected, that I don't know what to do with my heart. I dare not take it, I dare not leave it — what do you advise?

The moon was but a chin of gold A night or two ago, And now she turns her perfect face Upon the world below. Her forehead is of amplest blond; Her cheek like beryl stone; Her eye unto the summer dew The likest I have known... And what a privilege to be But the remotest star! For certainly her way might pass Beside your twinkling door. Her bonnet is the firmament, The universe her shoe, The stars the trinkets at her belt, Her dimities of blue.

The past is not a package one can lay away.

There is no first or last in Forever. It is Centre there all the time.

Opinion is a flitting thing But truth outlasts the sun, If then we cannot own them both, Possess the oldest one.