Emily Dickinson Quotes

You left me - Sire - two Legacies
A Legacy of Love
A Heavenly Father
Had He the offer of -

You left me Boundaries of Pain -
Capacious as the Sea -
Between Eternity and Time -
Your Consciousness - and Me -

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

كم بالغة سعادة الحجر
يتسكع وحده في الطرق بلا ضجر
فلا يهمه العمل
ولا بالمتطلبات يضيق الأمل
وثوبه البني ألبسه إياه
الدهر الذي من فوقه عبر
وهو كالشمس بكل حرية
يلمع وحده أو مع البقية
محققا وجوده
بكل بساطة وعفوية

That it will never come again is what makes life sweet

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.

Life is death we're lengthy at

A Clock Stopped — Not The Mantel's

A clock stopped — not the mantel's
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still.

An awe came on the trinket!
The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
Into degreeless noon.

It will not stir for doctors,
This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
While cool, concernless No

Nods from the gilded pointers,
Nods from seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
The dial life and him.

Good Morning — Midnight — I'm coming Home — Day — got tired of Me — How could I — of Him?

Sunshine was a sweet place — I liked to stay — But Morn — didn't want me — now — So — Goodnight — Day!

I can look — can't I — When the East is Red?
The Hills — have a way — then — That puts the Heart — abroad — You — are not so fair — Midnight — I chose — Day — But — please take a little Girl — He turned away!

When I sound the fairy call, gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall, cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry, take a cherry, mine are sounder, mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter for the eater, when the dews fall, and you'll be fairies all.

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

Inebriate of Air — am I — And Debauchee of Dew — Reeling — thro endless summer days — From Inns of Molten Blue —

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

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.

Let us strive together to part with time more reluctantly, to watch the pinions of the fleeting moment until they are dim in the distance, and the new-coming moment claims our attention.

My business is circumference.