Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

American Poet

Author Quotes

Judge tenderly of me.

Mirth is the Mail of Anguish --

Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.

Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.

The heroism we recite would be a daily thing, did not ourselves the cubits warp for fear to be a king.

Then, as horizons step, or noons report away, without the formula of sound, it passes, and we stay: a quality of loss affecting our content.

Those who are beloved cannot die, because love means immortality.

Unto my Books-so good to turn-Far ends of tired Days-It half endears the Abstinence-And Pain-is missed-in Praise-As Flavors-cheer Retarded Guests with Banquettings to be-so Spices-stimulate the time till my small Library-It may be Wilderness-without-Far feet of failing Men-But Holiday-excludes the night-And it is Bells-within-I thank these Kinsmen of the Shelf-Their Countenances Kid Enamor-in Prospective-And satisfy-obtained-

Witchcraft was hung, in History, but History and I find all the Witchcraft that we need around us, every Day.

Lad of Athens, faithful be to thyself, and Mystery - all the rest is Perjury.

Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.

A Word that Breathes Distinctly

Behind Me — dips Eternity — Before Me — Immortality — Myself — the Term between —

Expectation is contentment - Gain satiety.

Forgive me if I never visit. I am from the fields, you know, and while quite at home with the dandelions, make a sorry figure in a drawing room.

Hunger is a way of standing outside windows the entering takes away.

I felt it shelter to speak to you.

I see thee better in the dark, I do not need a light.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, the news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, the bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, That must have been the sun!

A wounded dear leaps the highest.

Bless God, he went as soldiers, his musket on his breast— grant God, he charge the bravest of all the martial blest! Please God, might I behold him in epauletted white—I should not fear the foe then—I should not fear the fight!

Experiment escorts us last- his pungent company will not allow an axiom an opportunity.

Fortune befriends the bold.

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

I had been hungry all the years- my noon had come, to dine- I, trembling, drew the table near and touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen when turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, 'twas so unlike the crumb the birds and I had often shared in Nature's dining room. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,-- Myself felt ill and odd, as berry of a mountain bush transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found that hunger was a way of persons outside windows, the entering takes away.

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Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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American Poet