Emily Dickinson Quotes

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea
Past the houses, past the headlands
Into deep eternity!
Bred as we, among the mountains
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?

Death is like the insect
Menacing the tree,
Competent to kill it,
But decoyed may be.

Bait it with the balsam,
Seek it with the knife,
Baffle, if it cost you
Everything in life.

Then, if it have burrowed
Out of reach of skill,
Ring the tree and leave it, — ’Tis the vermin’s will.

One need not be a Chamber — to be Haunted — One need not be a House — The Brain has Corridors — surpassing
Material Place —

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

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

I wonder if They bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the Date of Mine,
It feels so old a pain.

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

I note that Some — gone patient long — At length, renew their smile.
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil.

I wonder if when Years have piled,
Some Thousands — on the Harm
Of early hurt — if such a lapse
Could give them any Balm;

Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger Pain
By Contrast with the Love.

The Grieved are many,
I am told;
The reason deeper lies, — Death is but one
and comes but once,
And only nails the eyes.

There's Grief of Want
and Grief of Cold, — A sort they call "Despair";
There's Banishment from native Eyes,
In sight of Native Air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly, yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the Cross,
And how they're mostly worn,
Still fascinated to presume
That Some are like My Own."

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.

New feet within my garden go, New fingers stir the sod; A troubadour upon the elm Betrays the solitude. New children play upon the green, New weary sleep below; And still the pensive spring returns, And still the punctual snow!

And if, indeed, I fail, At least to know the worst is sweet. Defeat means nothing but defeat, No drearier can prevail!

THE MOON was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.

Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.

Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!

And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.

Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.

How glad I am that spring has come, and how it calms my mind when wearied with study to walk out in the green fields and beside the pleasant streams in which South Hadley is rich! ... The older I grow, the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it not so with you? (May 16, 1848 to Abiah Root)

Dove tu sei, quella è casa.

If your Nerve, deny you
Go above your Nerve

That such have died enables us The tranquiller to die; That such have lived, certificate For immortality.

"A wounded deer leaps highest,

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'Tis but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs:
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is mail of anguish,
In which its cautious arm
Lest anybody spy the blood
And, "you're hurt" exclaim"