Authors — Quotes

Emily Dickinson Quotes: 61

To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.
Where thou art, that is home.
Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.
Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.
I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words And never stops at all.
That it will never come again is what makes life sweet.
Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
Forever is composed of nows.
That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
Not knowing when the dawn will comeI open every door.
The Complete Poems
Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.
I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?
Selected Letters
I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
The Complete Poems
The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
A Word is DeadA word is deadWhen it is said,Some say.I say it justBegins to liveThat day.
The Complete Poems
How happy is the little stoneThat rambles in the road alone,And doesn't care about careers,And exigencies never fears;Whose coat of elemental brownA passing universe put on;And independent as the sun,Associates or glows alone,Fulfilling absolute decreeIn casual simplicity.
I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.
There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands awayNor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry – This Traverse may the poorest takeWithout oppress of Toll – How frugal is the Chariot That bears a Human soul.
Selected Poems
Heart, we will forget him,You and I, tonight!You must forget the warmth he gave,I will forget the light.
My friends are my estate.
PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.
The Heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care
One need not be a chamber to be haunted.
The Complete Poems
Till I loved I never lived.
I dwell in possibility.
A great hope fellYou heard no noiseThe ruin was within.
We never know how high we are till we are called to rise. Then if we are true to form our statures touch the skies.
Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathersThat 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 stormThat could abash the little birdThat kept so many warm.I've heard it in the chilliest landAnd on the strangest sea;Yet, never, in extremity,It asked a crumb of me.
The Complete Poems
That I shall love always, I argue theethat love is life,and life hath immortality
A wounded dear leaps the highest
I died for beauty but was scarceAdjusted in the tomb,When one who died for truth was lainIn an adjoining room.He questioned softly why I failed?"For beauty,"I replied."And I for truth, the two are one;We brethren are,"he said.And so, as kinsmen met a night,We talked between the rooms,Until the moss had reached our lips,And covered up our names.
She died--this was the way she died;And when her breath was done,Took up her simple wardrobeAnd started for the sun.Her little figure at the gateThe angels must have spied,Since I could never find herUpon the mortal side.
Selected Poems
He ate and drank the precious words,His spirit grew robust;He knew no more that he was poor,Nor that his frame was dust.He danced along the dingy days,And this bequest of wingsWas but a book. What libertyA loosened spirit brings!
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant--Success in Circuit liesToo bright for our infirm DelightThe Truth's superb surpriseAs Lightning to the Children easedWith explanation kindThe Truth must dazzle graduallyOr every man be blind--
Much Madness Is Divinest SenseMuch Madness is divinest Sense —To a discerning Eye —Much Sense — the starkest Madness —'Tis the MajorityIn this, as All, prevail —Assent — and you are sane —Demur — you're straightway dangerous —And handled with a Chain —
The Complete Poems
There's a certain slant of light,On winter afternoons,That oppresses, like the weightOf cathedral tunes.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,One clover, and a bee,And revery.The revery alone will do,If bees are few.
The Complete Poems
Faith is a fine inventionWhen gentlemen can see,But microscopes are prudentIn an emergency.
My life closed twice before its close; It yet remains to seeIf Immortality unveil A third event to me,So huge, so hopeless to conceive, As these that twice befell.Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
Dickinson: Poems
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind—As if my Brain had split—I tried to match it—Seam by Seam—But could not make it fit.
The Complete Poems
She dealt her pretty words like Blades --How glittering they shone --And every One unbared a NerveOr wantoned with a Bone --She never deemed -- she hurt --That -- is not Steel's Affair --A vulgar grimace in the Flesh --How ill the Creatures bear --To Ache is human -- not polite --The Film upon the eyeMortality's old Custom --Just locking up -- to Die.
Wild Nights – Wild Nights!Were I with theeWild Nights should beOur luxury!Futile – the winds –To a heart in port –Done with the compass –Done with the chart!Rowing in Eden –Ah, the sea!Might I moor – Tonight –In thee!
Selected Poems
Inebriate of Air — am I —And Debauchee of Dew —Reeling — thro endless summer days —From Inns of Molten Blue —
Selected Poems
The Soul selects her own Society.
The Complete Poems
One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — One need not be a House — The Brain has Corridors — surpassing Material Place —
Selected Poems