Quotes by Emily Dickinson

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

Beauty is not caused. It is.

The older I grow the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it so with you?

The lovely flowers embarrass me. They make me regret I am not a bee.

Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.

Till I loved I never lived.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.

Saying nothing sometimes says the most.

I dwell in possibility.

That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.

Forever is composed of nows.

My friends are my estate.

Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.

People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.

I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.

If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.

In such a porcelain life, one likes to be sure that all is well lest one stumble upon one's hopes in a pile of broken crockery.

There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.

That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love; It is enough, the freight should be proportioned to the groove.

I stepped from plank to plank so slow and cautiously the stars about my head I felt, about my feet the sea. I knew not but the next would be my final inch -- this gave me that precarious gait some call experience.

Dreams are the subtle dower that make us rich an hour. Then fling us poor out of the purple door. Into the precinct raw possessed before.

It sounded as if the streets were running, And then the streets stood still.

Bloom upon the Mountain--stated Blameless of a Name Efflorescence of a Sunset Reproduced--the same.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading -- treading -- till it seemed That Sense was breaking through --.

We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies.

Nature rarer uses yellow Than another hue; Saves she all of that for sunsets, -- Prodigal of blue.

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

The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee, a clover, anytime, to him, is aristocracy.

A door just opened on a street --
I, lost, was passing by --
An instant's width of warmth disclosed
And wealth, and company.

Longing is like a seed that wrestles in the ground.

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

Let us go in; the fog is rising.

There is a June when Corn is cut And Roses in the Seed -- A Summer briefer than the first But tenderer indeed.

Till the first friend dies, we think ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as unknown.

Besides the autumn poets sing, a few prosaic days, a little this side of the snow, and that side of the haze.

The pedigree of honey Does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him Is aristocracy.

A mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.

Surgeons must be very careful when they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions. Stirs the Culprit Life!

Truth is such a rare thing, it is delighted to tell it.

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

My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

IMMORTAL is an ample word When what we need is by, But when it leaves us for a time, 'Tis a necessity.

For love is immortality.

My best Acquaintances are those With Whom I spoke no Word.

What Soft -- Cherubic Creatures --
These Gentlewomen are --
One would as soon assault a Plush --
Or violate a Star.

Pain has an element of blank.

By Chivalries as tiny, A Blossom, or a Book, The seeds of smiles are planted- Which Blossom in the dark.

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

I cling to nowhere until I fall -- the crash of Nothing.

Experiment to me
Is every one I meet.
If it contain a kernel?
The figure of a nut
Presents upon a tree,
Equally plausibly;
But meat within is requisite,
To squirrels and to me.

I felt a clearing in my mind
As if my brain had split ;
I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.
The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,
But sequence ravelled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.

He deposes Doom Who hath suffered him.

I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes;
I wonder if It weighs like Mine,
Or has an Easier size.

Hope is a thing with feathers.

My Life had stood -- a Loaded Gun.

If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me.

What fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot- The opening of a Door.

Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.

But it is growing damp and I must go in. Memory's fog is rising.

The Babies we were are buried, and their shadows are plodding on.

A color stands abroad on solitary hills that silence cannot overtake, but human nature feels.

She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife.

Beauty is not the cause of something, it is what it is.

Remember and care for me sometimes, and scatter a fragrant flower in this wilderness life of mine by writing me.

A Letter is a Joy of Earth -- It is denied the Gods.

Wild Nights--Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile--the winds--
To a heart in port--
Done with the compass--
Done with the chart!
Rowing in Eden--
Ah, the sea!
Might I but moor-- Tonight--
In thee!

This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me, the simple news that nature told, with tender majesty. Her message is committed, to hands I cannot see; for love of her, sweet countrymen, judge tenderly of me.

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.

A Deed knocks first at Thought And then -- it knocks at Will -- That is the manufacturing spot.

To be alive is power; existence in itself; without a further function; omnipotence.

Hunger is a way
Of standing outside windows
The entering takes away.

To hang our head ostensibly,
And subsequent to find
That such was not the posture
Of our immortal mind,
Affords the sly presumption
That, in so dense a fuzz,
You, too, take cobweb attitudes
Upon a plane of gauze!

Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane.

My life closed twice before its close;

It yet remains to see

If Immortality unveil

A third event to me,

So huge, so hopeless to conceive,

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.

Love can do all but raise the Dead I doubt if even that From such a giant were withheld Were flesh equivalent But love is tired and must sleep, And hungry and must graze And so abets the shining Fleet Till it is out of gaze.

A Clock stopped --
Not the Mantel's --
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing --
That just now dangled still.

We are the only poets, Emily told Susan, and everyone else is prose.

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last -- I'm going, all along.

The past is such a curious creature,
To look her in the face
A transport may reward us,
Or a disgrace.
Unarmed if any meet her,
I charge them, fly !
Her rusty ammunition
Might yet reply !

She died -- this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

Action is redemption.

Remorse is memory awake.

Mine Enemy is growing old --
I have at last Revenge --
The Palate of the Hate departs --
If any would avenge

Let him be quick -- the Viand flits --
It is a faded Meat --
Anger as soon as fed is dead --
'Tis starving makes it fat.

The sailor cannot see the north but knows the needle can.

Longing, it may be, is the gift no other gift supplies.

Experiment has a stimulus which withers its fear.

Such is the force of Happiness -- The Least can lift a ton Assisted by its stimulus.

I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod.

To venerate the simple days Which lead the seasons by, Needs but to remember That from you or I They may take the trifle Termed mortality!

The sweets of pillage can be known To no one but the thief, Compassion for integrity Is his divinest grief.

There is a pain so utter, it swallows being up; The covers the abyss with a trance So memory can step around, across, upon it.

The Past is such a curious Creature To look her in the Face A Transport may receipt us Or a Disgrace.

To lose ones faith-surpass The loss of an Estate- Because Estates can be Replenished- faith cannot.

Who never wanted, ― maddest joy
Remains to him unknown ;
The banquet of abstemiousness
Surpasses that of wine.
Within its hope, though yet ungrasped
Desire's perfect goal,
No nearer, lest reality
Should disenthrall thy soul.

Affection is like bread, unnoticed till we starve, and then we dream of it, and sing of it, and paint it, when every urchin in the street has more than he can eat.

The Soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend,
Or the most agonizing Spy
An Enemy -- could send.

A power of Butterfly must be -- The Aptitude to fly Meadows of Majesty concedes And easy Sweeps of Sky .

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.

It dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.

To lose what we have never owned might seem an eccentric bereavement, but Presumption has its own affliction as well as claim.

If fame belonged to me, I could not escape her; if she did not, the longest day would pass me on the chase, and the approbation of my dog would forsake me then. My barefoot rank is better.

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.

We never know we go when we are going- We jest and shut the Door- Fate-following-behind us bolts it- And we accost no more.

Behold this little Bane- The Boon of all alive- As common as it is unknown The name of it is Love.

I had a terror-since September -I could tell to none-and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground-because I am afraid.

That short, potential stir
That each can make but once,
That bustle so illustrious
Tis almost consequence,
Is the eclat of death.

Look back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!

A Bayonet's contrition is nothing to the dead.

The Heart is the Capital of the Mind-- The Mind is a single State-- The Heart and the Mind together make A single Continent-- One--is the Population-- Numerous enough-- This ecstatic Nation Seek--it is Yourself.

God gave a loaf to every bird, But just a crumb to me.

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn; Men eat of it and die.

My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them!

Our journey had advanced; Our feet were almost come To that odd fork in Being's road, Eternity by term.

The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small-
Better an ignis fatuus
Than no illume at all.

Love can do all but raise the Dead.

I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep. The day was warm, and winds were prosy; I said: 'T will keep. I woke and chid my honest fingers,-- The gem was gone; And now an amethyst remembrance Is all I own.

To possess is past the instant; we achieve the joy, immortality contented, were anomaly.

To fight aloud is very brave, but gallanter, I know, who charge within the bosom, the Cavalry of Woe.

I tasted -- careless -- then -
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World -- Did you?
Oh, had you told me so -
This Thirst would blister -- easier -- now.

You are nipping in the bud fancies which I let blossom. The shore is safer, but I love to buffet the sea -- I can count the bitter wrecks here in these pleasant waters, and hear the murmuring winds, but oh, I love the danger!

You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.

I felt a Cleaving in my Mind- As if my Brain had split- I tried to match it- Seam by Seam- But could not make it fit.

Fearless -- the cobweb swings from the ceiling --
Indolent Housewife -- in Daisies -- lain!

The distance that the dead have gone Does not at first appear- Their coming back seems possible For many an ardent year.

It is essential to the sanity of mankind that each one should think the other crazy -- a condition with which the cynicism of human nature so cordially complies, one could wish it were a concurrence upon a subject more noble.

Each that we lose takes a part of us; A crescent still abides, Which like the moon, some turbid night, Is summoned by the tides.

'Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand When we with Daisies lie- That Commerce will continue- And Trades as briskly fly.

The dandelion's pallid tube
Astonishes the grass,
And winter instantly becomes
An infinite alas.

Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.

Forbidden fruit a flavor has
That lawful orchards mocks ;
How luscious lies the pea within
The pod that Duty locks !

A Dominie in Gray --
Put gently up the evening Bars --
And led the flock away.

I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You'll know it by the rows of stars around it's forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; yet to my frugal eye of more esteem than ducats. Oh! Find it, sir, for me!

You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.

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!

Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.

You remember my ideal cat has always a huge rat in its mouth, just going out of sight -- though going out of sight in itself has a peculiar pleasure.

When a Lover is a Beggar Abject is his Knee. When a Lover is an Owner Different is he.

Banish Air from Air
Divide Light if you dare.

Prayer is the little implement

Through which Men reach

Where Presence -- is denied them.

They fling their Speech

By means of it -- in God's Ear -

If then He hear -

This sums the Apparatus

Comprised in Prayer.

Opinion is a fitting thing but truth outlasts the sun -- if then we cannot own them both, possess the oldest one.

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 the Sun Were shining in your Hand.

My Life had stood -- a Loaded Gun -- In Corners -- till a Day The Owner passed -- identified -- And carried Me away .

Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.

PHOSPHORESCENCE. Now there's a word to lift your hat to... to find that phosphorescence, that light within, that's the genius behind poetry.

AMPLE make this bed. Make this bed with awe; In it wait till judgment break Excellent and fair. Be its mattress straight, Be its pillow round; Let no sunrise' yellow noise Interrupt this ground.

Faith is a fine invention When gentlemen can see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.

Afraid? Of whom am I afraid? Not death. For who is he?

How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn't care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.

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.

Eden is that old-fashioned house we dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode until we drive away.

No Life can pompless pass away -
The lowliest career
To the same Pageant wends its way
As that exalted here .

Other Courtesies have been -
Other Courtesy may be -
We commend ourselves to thee
Paragon of Chivalry.

Renunciation-is a piercing Virtue-The letting go A Presence-for an Expectation.

I like a look of agony, because I know it's true.

We must be careful what we say. No bird resumes its egg.

If I shouldn't be alive
When the Robins come,
Give the one in Red Cravat,
A Memorial crumb.

Expectation is contentment -- Gain satiety.

I fear a Man of frugal speech -- I fear a Silent Man -- Haranguer -- I can overtake -- Or Babbler -- entertain -- But He who weigheth -- While the Rest -- Expend their furthest pound -- Of this Man -- I am wary -- I fear that He is Grand .

That no Flake of snow fall on you or them -- is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.

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!

There is always one thing to be grateful for -- that one is one's self and not somebody else.

Had we less to say to those we love, perhaps we should say it oftener.

I miss the grasshoppers much, but suppose it is all for the best. I should become too much attached to a trotting world.

Vinnie rocks her Garden and moans that God won't help her. I suppose he is too busy getting angry with the Wicked every day.

Volcanoes be in Sicily
And South America
I judge from my Geography --
Volcanoes nearer here
A lava step at any time
Am I inclined to climb --
A Crater I may contemplate
Vesuvius at Home.

That love is all there is, Is all we know of love.

'Arcturus' is his other name- I'd rather call him 'Star.' It's very mean of Science To go and interfere!

How very sad it is to have a confiding nature, one's hopes and feelings are quite at the mercy of all who come along; and how very desirable to be a stolid individual, whose hopes and aspirations are safe in one's waistcoat pocket, and that a pocket indeed, and one not to be picked!

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.

Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed.

Initial of Creation, and The Exponent of Earth.

You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.

I ... am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold like the chestnut burr; and my eyes like the sherry in the glass that the guest leaves.

To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.

The revery alone will do
If bees are few.

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.

Of Consciousness, her awful Mate. The Soul cannot be rid -- as easy the secreting her behind the Eyes of God.

The Morning after Woe- Tis frequently the Way- Surpasses all that rose before- For utter Jubilee.

Memory is a strange Bell--Jubilee, and Knell.

Forever is composed of Nows
'Tis not a different time
Except for Infiniteness
And Latitude of Home.

We both believe, and disbelieve a hundred times an hour, which keeps believing nimble.

How lucious lies the pea within the pod.

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!

My friends are my estate. Forgive me then the avarice to hoard them. They tell me those who were poor early have different views of gold. I don't know how that is. God is not so wary as we, else He would give us no friends, lest we forget Him.

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.

I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.

Mine Enemy is growing old -- I have at last Revenge -- The Palate of the Hate departs -- If any would avenge Let him be quick -- the Viand flits -- It is a faded Meat -- Anger as soon as fed is dead -- 'Tis starving makes it fat.

Common sense is almost as omniscient as God.

We trust in plumed procession
For such the angels go
Rank after rank, with even feet And uniforms of snow.

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.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, .

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

I stepped from plank to plank So slow and cautiously; The stars about my head I felt, About my feet the sea. I knew not but the next Would be my final inch,-- This gave me that precarious gait Some call experience.