Quotes from Emily Dickinson

The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.

One step at a time is all it takes to get you there.

You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.

Nothing more do I ask than to share with you the ecstasy and sacrament of my life.

Life is so rotatory that the wilderness falls to each, sometime.

How odd that girl's life looks Behind this soft eclipse! I think that earth seems so To those in heaven now. This being comfort, then That other kind was pain; But why compare? I'm wife! stop there!

Life is the finest secret. So long as that remains, we must all whisper.

I had no monarch in my life, and cannot rule myself; and when I try to organize, my little force explodes and leaves me bare and charred.

If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.

My life closed twice before its close

To be alive is power; existence in itself; without a further function; omnipotence.

Nods from the Gilded pointers - Nods from the Seconds slim - Decades of Arrogance between The Dial life - And Him -

It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul - and sings the tunes without the words - and never stops at all.

He ate and drank the precious Words, his Spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, nor that his frame was Dust.

Nature, like us is sometimes caught without her diadem.

LOOK back on time with kindly eyes, He doubtless did his best; How softly sinks his trembling sun In human nature's west!

IMMORTAL is an ample word When what we need is by, But when it leaves us for a time, 'Tis a necessity.

That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.

Life is death we're lengthy at

Or help one fainting RobinUnto his Nest againI shall not live in vain.

Prayer is the little implement through which men reach; where presence is denied them.

His labour is a chant, His idleness a tune; Oh, for a bee's experience Of clovers and of noon!

A wounded deer leaps the highest.