Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
My love for those I love â€” not many â€” not very many, but don't I love them so?
Perception of an object costs precise the Object's lossâ€”
The soul should always stand ajar, that if the heaven inquire, he will not be obliged to wait, or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid the bolt upon the door, to seek for the accomplished guest, -- her visitor no more.
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars, like petals from a rose, when suddenly across the lune a wind with fingers goes. They perished in the seamless grass, no eye could find the place; but God on his repealess list can summon every face
To hope means to be ready at every moment for that which is not yet born, and yet not become desperate if there is no birth in our lifetime.
We turn not older with years but newer every day.
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 â€” 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.