After great pain, a formal feeling comes The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore And Yesterday, or Centuries before? The Feet, mechanical, go round Of Ground, or Air, or Ought A Wooden way Regardless grown A Quartz contentment, like a stone. This is the Hour of Lead, […]
Emily Dickinson Quotes
How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn’t care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these things.
The heart asks pleasure first, and then excuse from pain, and then those little anodynes that deaden suffering.
Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.
Pain has an element of blank. It cannot recollect when it begun or if there were a time when it was not.
We turn not older with years, but newer every day.
Wild Nights! Wild Nights! were I with thee- Wild Nights would be our luxury – Futile the winds to a heart in port, Gone with the compass – Gone with the chart – Rowing in Eden – Ah the Sea! Might I but moor – Tonight in thee
Nature is what we know – Yet have not art to say – So impotent our wisdom is To her simplicity.
How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!