Quotes by Emily Dickinson

So bashful when I spied her!So pretty ― so ashamed!So hidden in her leafletsLest anybody find ―So breathless till I passed her ―So helpless when I turnedAnd bore her struggling, blushing,Her simple haunts beyond!For whom I robbed the Dingle ―For whom betrayed the Dell ―Many, will doubtless ask me,But I shall never tell!

Not “Revelation” – tis – that waitsBut our unfurnished eyes –

The Soul selects her own Society.

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.

Nature is a haunted house--but Art--is a house that tries to be haunted.

Water is taught by thirst;Land, by the oceans passed;Transport, by throe;Peace, by its battles told;Love, by memorial mould;Birds, by the snow.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,I shall not live in vain;If I can ease one life the aching,Or cool one pain,Or help one fainting robinUnto his nest again,I shall not live in vain.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,And Mourners to and froKept treading – treading – till it seemedThat Sense was breaking through – And when they all were seated,A Service, like a Drum – Kept beating – beating – till I thoughtMy Mind was going numb – And then I heard them lift a BoxAnd creak across my SoulWith those same Boots of Lead, again,Then Space – began to toll,As all the Heavens were a Bell,And Being, but an Ear,And I, and Silence, some strange RaceWrecked, solitary, here – And then a Plank in Reason, broke,And I dropped down, and down – And hit a World, at every plunge,And Finished knowing – then –

and so I sing, as the Boy does by the Burying Ground – because I am afraid –

Split the Lark—and youll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.

Not with a club, the Heart is brokenNor with a Stone –A Whip so small you could not see itIve known

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.The thought behind, I strove to joinUnto the thought before—But Sequence ravelled out of SoundLike Balls—upon a Floor.

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

The Poets light but Lamps-Themselves-go out-

Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies

And I, could I stand byAnd see you freeze,Without my right of frost, Deaths privilege?

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!

To lose what we never owned might seem an eccentric Bereavement but Presumption has its Affliction as actually as Claim --

When Jesus tells us about his Father, we distrust him. When he shows us his Home, we turn away, but when he confides to us that he is acquainted with Grief, we listen, for that also is an Acquaintance of our own.

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