Quotes from Emily Dickinson

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 years had been from home, And now, before the door, I dared not open, lest a face I never saw before Stare vacant into mine And ask my business there. My business,—just a life I left, Was such still dwelling there?

The will is always near, dear, though the feet vary.

In lands I never saw, they say, Immortal Alps look down, Whose bonnets touch the firmament, Whose sandals touch the town, ? Meek at whose everlasting feet A myriad daisies play. Which, sir, are you, and which am I. Upon an August day?

For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy. For each beloved hour Sharp pittances of years, Bitter contested farthings And coffers heaped with tears.

She dwelleth in the Ground— Where Daffodils—abide— Her Maker—Her Metropolis— The Universe—Her Maid— To fetch Her Grace—and Hue— And Fairness—and Renown— The Firmament's—To Pluck Her— And fetch Her Thee—be mine—

They're here, though; not a creature failed, No blossom stayed away In gentle deference to me, The Queen of Calvary.

What are you reading now? I have little time to read when I am here, but while at home I had a feast in the reading line, I can assure you...Am not I a pendant for telling you what I have been reading? (May 16, 1848 to Abiah Root)

There is a Zone whose even Years No Solstice interrupt - Whose Sun constructs perpetual Noon Whose perfect Seasons wait -

It is strange that the most intangible thing is the most adhesive.

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 -

Opinion is a flitting thing, but the truth outlasts the sun.

The Overtakelessness of Those Who have accomplished Death - Majestic is to me beyond The majesties of Earth - The Soul her Not at Home Inscribes upon the Flesh - And takes a fine aerial gait Beyond the Writ of Touch.

Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village, Sauntered as soft away! So unsuspected violets Within the fields lie low, Too late for striving fingers That passed, an hour ago.

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

Longing is like the seed That wrestles in the ground, Believing if it intercede It shall at length be found. The hour and the zone Each circumstance unknown, What constancy must be achieved Before it see the sun!

I never hear the word «escape» Without a quicker blood, A sudden expectation, A flying attitude! I never hear of prisons broad By soldiers battered down, But I tug childish at my bars Only to fail again!

El para siempre está hecho de muchos «ahoras.

Consciousness is the only home of which we know.

MY worthiness is all my doubt, His merit all my fear, Contrasting which, my qualities Do lowlier appear; Lest I should insufficient prove 5 For his beloved need, The chiefest apprehension Within my loving creed. So I, the undivine abode Of his elect content, 10 Conform my soul as 't were a church Unto her sacrament.

Emerging from an Abyss and entering it again—that is Life, is it not?

This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies.

Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music, Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled.

Perhaps I asked too large — I take — no less than skies — For Earths, grow thick as Berries, in my native town — My Basket holds — just — Firmaments — Those — dangle easy — on my arm, But smaller bundles — Cram.