Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

American Poet

Author Quotes

I'm not one! And you be? Are you also, no one? And if there are two of us - Never tell anyone! Otherwise, threw us in exile - as you know how lonely and dreary to be somebody. Sleeve is a popular public and commons, such as the frog.

Ample make this bed.

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. Espousing the former is not defending the latter.

Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies.

He danced along the dingy days, and this bequest of wings was but a book.

I believe the love of God may be taught not to seem like bears.

I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep.

I took my Power in my Hand -- and went against the World -- 'twas not so much as David -- had -- But I -- was twice as bold -- I aimed by Pebble -- but Myself Was all the one that fell -- Was it Goliath -- was too large -- Or was myself -- too small?

In human nature’s west!

An ear can break a human heart as quickly as a spear, we wish the ear had not a heart so dangerously near.

Could you tell me how to grow--or is it unconveyed--like Melody--or Witchcraft?

Faith—is the Pierless Bridge supporting what We see unto the Scene that We do not—too slender for the eye it bears the Soul as bold as it were rocked in Steel with Arms of Steel at either side— it joins—behind the Veil to what, could We presume the Bridge would cease to be to Our far, vacillating Feet a first Necessity.

He doubtless did his best;

I can wade Grief -- Whole Pools of it -- I'm used to that -- But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet -- And I tip -- drunken -- Let no Pebble -- smile -- 'Twas the New Liquor -- That was all!

I hide myself within my flower that wearing on your breast, you, unsuspecting, wear me too— and angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower, that, fading from your vase, you, unsuspecting, feel for me almost a loneliness.

I took one Draught of Life — I'll tell you what I paid — Precisely an existence — The market price, they said.

In this short life that only lasts an hour how much-how little-is within our power.

A Bird came down the Walk – he did not know I saw – he bit an Angleworm in halves and ate the fellow, raw, and then he drank a Dew from a convenient Grass – and then hopped sidewise to the Wall to let a Beetle pass.

And somebody has lost the face that made existence home!

Did the harebell loose her girdle to the lover bee, would the bee the harebell hallow much as formerly?

Fame is a bee. It has a song - It has a sting - Ah, too, it has a wing.

He fumbles at your spirit as players at the keys before they drop full music on; he stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance for the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, then nearer, then so slow. Your breath has time to straighten your brain to bubble cool,- deals one imperial thunderbolt that scalps your naked soul.

I cannot live with you, it would be life, and life is over there behind the shelf.

I hope you love birds too. It is economical. It saves going to heaven.

I wonder if it hurts to live, and if they have to try, and whether, could they choose between, they would not rather die.

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Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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American Poet