Quotes About Emily Dickinson

When I think of Emily Dickinson, there's not one particular poem of hers that jumps out, but I do have a very vivid image of an ill woman with giant eyes who wants to write about the sun exploding.

Untouched by morning and untouched by noon, sleep the meek members of the Resurrection, rafter of satin and roof of stone.' Emily Dickinson.

There is no Silence in the Earth - so silent As that endured Which uttered, would discourage Nature And haunt the World.

God, keep me from what they call 'households,'

Remorse is cureless--the Disease Not even God--can heal-- For 'tis His institution--and The Adequate of Hell

Within thy Grave! Oh no, but on some other flight - Thou only camest to mankind To rend it with Good night

When Emily Dickinson writes, "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul," she reminds us, as the birds do, of the liberation and pragmatism of belief.

No, I don't know any Emily Dickinson poems!

Emily Dickinson has haunted my life - her poems, her persona, all the tales about her solitude. Ever since I discovered her in the seventh grade, I've had a crush on that spinster in white, who had such a heroic and startling inner landscape of her own.

A great Hope fell You heard no noise The Ruin was within Oh cunning wreck that told no tale And let no Witness in

This is my letter to the world, That never wrote to me,-- The simple news that Nature told, With tender majesty. Her message is committed To hands I cannot see; For love of her, sweet countrymen, Judge tenderly of me!

It's all i have to bring today this and my heart beside this and my heart and all the fields and all the meadows wide be sure to count should i forget someone the sum could tell this and my heart and all the bees which in the clovers dwell

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)

This quiet dust was gentlemen and ladies.

And I, could I stand by And see you freeze, Without my right of frost, Death's privilege?

There's nothing wicked in Shakespeare, and if there is I don't want to know it.

But since the last included both, It would suffice my prayer But just for one to stipulate, And grace would grant the pair.

Sorrow seems more general than it did, and not the estate of a few persons, since the war began; and if the anguish of others helped one with one's own, now would be many medicines.

This was a Poet - It is That Distills amazing sense From ordinary Meanings - And Attar so immense

The thunder crumbled like a stuff — How good to be safe in tombs, Where nature's temper cannot reach

It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At bottom of my mind; Yet

I love Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. I also love more cerebral poets like H.D. and Emily Dickinson. My parents subscribed to a monthly poetry periodical, and as a teenager I was introduced to Denise Levertov, who was an influence.

Lavinia insisted that Todd's preface should include a statement that Emily Dickinson's sister had collected the letters. Todd, unaccustomed to submit on demand, persuaded Roberts Brothers to reprint the letters with a different version of that sentence. It was to say that Emily Dickinson's sister had asked Mabel Loomis Todd to collect her letters, implying Todd alone had done the job.

To approach Emily Dickinson through the feud, to search out why it happened and to follow its consequences to the present day, is one of many possible stories. A feud, at least, is verifiable.