Quotes by Emily Dickinson

Is Bliss then, such Abyss,I must not put my foot amissFor fear I spoil my shoe? Id rather suit my footThan save my Boot --For yet to buy another Pairis possible,At any store -- But Bliss, is sold just once.The Patent lostNone buy it any more --

Much Madness is Divinest Sense, to a Discerning Eye....

If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

I many times thought peace had come, When peace was far away; As wrecked men deem they sight the land At centre of the sea, And struggle slacker, but to prove, As hopelessly as I, How many the fictitious shores Before the harbor lie.

Success is counted sweetest by those neer succeed.

The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide, Earth a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true,And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue.

I have no life but this, To lead it here; Nor any death, but lest Dispelled from there; Nor tie to earths to come, Nor action new, Except through this extent, The realm of you.

Faith is a fine inventionWhen gentlemen can see,But microscopes are prudentIn an emergency.

Faith—is the Pierless BridgeSupporting what We seeUnto the Scene that We do not—Too slender for the eyeIt bears the Soul as boldAs it were rocked in SteelWith Arms of Steel at either side—It joins—behind the VeilTo what, could We presumeThe Bridge would cease to beTo Our far, vacillating FeetA first Necessity.

The Truth must dazzle graduallyOr every man be blind - Emily Dickinson

THERE is no frigate like a book/ To take us lands away...

There is no Frigate like a book.

Look back on Time, with kindly eyes -He doubtless did his best -How softly sinks that trembling sunIn Human Natures West -

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.

A precious, mouldering pleasure t isTo meet an antique bookIn just the dress his century wore;A privilege, I think,His venerable hand to take,And warming in our own,A passage back, or two, to makeTo times when he was young.His quaint opinions to inspect,His knowledge to unfoldOn what concerns our mutual mind,The literature of old...

We never know how high we areTill we are called to rise;And then, if we are true to plan,Our statures touch the skies.The heroism we reciteWould be a daily thing,Did not ourselves the cubits warpFor fear to be a king.

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

This is my letter to the worldThat never wrote to me

Bless God, he went as soldiers,His musket on his breast—Grant God, he charge the bravestOf all the martial blest!Please God, might I behold himIn epauletted white—I should not fear the foe then—I should not fear the fight!

Beauty is not caused. It is.