Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

American Poet

Author Quotes

Is Bliss then, such Abyss, I must not put my foot amiss for fear I spoil my shoe? I'd rather suit my foot than save my Boot -- for yet to buy another Pair is possible, at any store -- but Bliss, is sold just once. The Patent lost none buy it anymore --

A charm invests a face imperfectly beheld,—the lady dare not lift her veil for fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, and wishes, and denies,— lest interview annul a want that image satisfies.

Anger as soon as fed is dead 'tis starving makes it fat.

Dogs are better than human beings because they know but do not tell.

Fame is a fickle food upon a shifting plate.

Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you’re lagging, I may remember him!

I did not reach thee, but my feet slip nearer every day;

I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious.

I work to drive the awe away, yet awe impels the work.

It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.

A great hope fell, you heard no noise, the ruin was within.

Apparently with no surprise to any happy Flower the Frost beheads it at its play -- in accidental power - The blonde Assassin passes on -- the Sun proceeds unmoved to measure off another Day for an Approving God.

Dogs are better than people.

Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.

Hold dear to your parents for it is a scary and confusing world without them.

I died for beauty but was scarce adjusted in the tomb, when one who died for truth was lain In an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? For beauty, I replied. And I for truth, the two are one; We brethren are, he said. And so, as kinsmen met a night, we talked between the rooms, until the moss had reached our lips, and covered up our names.

I imagine, therefore I belong and am free.

I would like more sisters, that the taking out of one, might not leave such stillness.

It is finished, is never said of us.

A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.

Art is a house that tries to be haunted.

Dreams — are well — but Waking's better, if One wake at Morn — if One wake at Midnight — better — dreaming — of the Dawn.

Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all, and sweetest in the gale is heard; and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land and on the strangest sea; yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me.

I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.

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Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
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American Poet