Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Emily
Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
1830
1886

American Poet

Author Quotes

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.

Nature is what we know yet have not art to say. So impotent our wisdom is to her simplicity.

She dealt her pretty words like Blades -- How glittering they shone -- And every One unbared a Nerve Or 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 eye Mortality's old Custom -- Just locking up -- to Die.

The fog is rising.

The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.

They say that Time assuages - Time never did assuage - An actual suffering strengthens As Sinews do, with age - Time is a Test of Trouble - But not a Remedy - If such it prove, it prove too There was no Malady.

To see the Summer Sky Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie—True Poems flee—

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

American Poet