Emily Dickinson Quotes, Hurt Quotes, Wine Quotes

I had been hungry all the years- My noon had come, to dine- I, trembling, drew the table near And touched the curious wine. 'Twas this on tables I had seen When turning, hungry, lone, I looked in windows, for the wealth I could not hope to own. I did not know the ample bread, 'Twas so unlike the crumb The birds and I had often shared In Nature's diningroom. The plenty hurt me, 'twas so new,-- Myself felt ill and odd, As berry of a mountain bush Transplanted to the road. Nor was I hungry; so I found That hunger was a way Of persons outside windows, The entering takes away.

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Till I loved I never lived.

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I know some lonely houses off the road A robber'd like the look of,-- Wooden barred, And windows hanging low

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Noon - is the Hinge of Day-.

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Forever is composed of nows.

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My life closed twice before its close

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Some keep the Sabbath going to church, I keep it staying at home, with a bobolink for a chorister, and an orchard for a dome.

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Tags : Emily Dickinson Quotes , Nature Quotes , Home Quotes

Remorse is memory awake.

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There's a certain slant of light, On winter afternoons, That oppresses, like the weight Of cathedral tunes.

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Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.

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Unto a broken heart No other one may go Without the high prerogative Itself hath suffered too.

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When everything that ticked has stopped, and space stares, all around, or grisly frosts, first autumn morns, repeal the beating ground.

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A Toad, can die of Light - Death is the Common Right Of Toads and Men

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I argue thee that love is life. And life hath immortality.

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Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light.

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Knew I how to pray, to intercede for your [broken] Foot were intuitive - but I am but a Pagan.

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

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That no Flake of [snow] fall on you or them - is a wish that would be a Prayer, were Emily not a Pagan.

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After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.

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She died--this was the way she died; And when her breath was done, Took up her simple wardrobe And started for the sun. Her little figure at the gate The angels must have spied, Since I could never find her Upon the mortal side.

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Tags : Emily Dickinson Quotes , Angel Quotes , Simple Quotes