Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Emily
Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
1830
1886

American Poet

Author Quotes

Love is Immortality.

My river runs to thee: blue sea, wilt welcome me? My river waits reply.

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 brain - is wider than the sky - for - put them side by side - the one the other will contain with ease - and you - beside - the brain is deeper than the sea - for- hold them - blue to blue - the one the other will absorb - as sponges - buckets - do - the brain is just the weight of God - for - heft them - pound for pound - and they will differ - if they do - as syllable from sound.

The spirit looks upon the Dust that fastened it so long with indignation, as a Bird defrauded of its Song.

They might not need me; but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight; a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.

To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.

We were all very friendly but we were like 4 monarchs each doing their own thing.

Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.

Narcotics cannot still the Tooth that nibbles at the soul --

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these.

The bustle in a house the morning after death is solemnest of industries enacted upon earth,-- the sweeping up the heart, and putting love away we shall not want to use again until eternity

The spreading wide my narrow Hands to gather Paradise.

They say that God is everywhere and yet we always think of him as somewhat of a recluse.

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.

What inn is this where for the night peculiar traveler comes? Who is the landlord? Where are the maids? Behold, what curious rooms! No ruddy fires on the hearth, no brimming tankards flow. Necromancer, landlord, who are these below?

Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly? The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring, its summer blossoms scent the air; yet wait till winter comes again, and who will call the wild-briar fair? Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now, and deck thee with holly's sheen, that, when December blights thy brow, he still may leave thy garland green.

Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.

Saying nothing sometimes says the most.

The dearest ones of time, the strongest friends of the soul--BOOKS.

The sun just touched the morning; the morning, happy thing, supposed that he had come to dwell, and life would be all spring.

They say that 'home is where the heart is.' I think it is where the house is, and the adjacent buildings.

To see her is a picture- to hear her is a tune- to know her an Intemperance as innocent as June- to know her not-Affliction- to own her for a Friend a warmth as near as if the Sun were shining in your Hand.

Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.

Luck is not chance, it's toil; fortune's expensive smile is earned.

Author Picture
First Name
Emily
Last Name
Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Birth Date
1830
Death Date
1886
Bio

American Poet