Quotes by Emily Dickinson
The Sweeping up the Heart And putting Love away We shall not want to use again Until Eternity.
The Bustle in a House The Morning after Death
The privilege to die—
Will you tell me my fault, frankly as to yourself, for I had rather wince, than die. Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, Sir.
I've seen a Dying Eye
After great pain, a formal feeling comes— The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs—
Apparently with no surprise To any happy flower, The frost beheads it at its play
Just girt me for the onset with Eternity, When breath blew back, And on the other side I heard recede the disappointed tide!
We talked between the Rooms— Until the Moss had reached our lips— And covered up—our names—
I could not die with you,
Remit as yet no grace, No furrow on the glow, Yet a druidic difference Enhances nature now.
Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning And untouched by Noon— Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection—
Because I could not stop for Death— He kindly stopped for me— The Carriage held but just Ourselves— And Immortality.
Though I than He—may longer live He longer must—than I— For I have but the power to kill, Without—the power to die—
The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying—this to Us Made Nature different
I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod.
I hope you love birds, too. It is economical. It saves going to Heaven.
I died for Beauty—but was scarce Adjusted in the Tomb When One who died for Truth, was lain In an adjoining Room—
If I can stop one heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease on Life the Aching Or cool one pain Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again I shall not live in Vain.
Death is a Dialogue between, The Spirit and the Dust.
Let us go in; the fog is rising.
Burglar! Banker—Father! I am poor once more!
There's a certain Slant of light, Winter Afternoons-- That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes--
This is the Hour of Lead -- Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow -- First --Chill --then Stupor --then the letting go --.
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it, Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee, Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it, Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
