Emily Dickinson citáty

strana 5

„Psi jsou lepší než lidi, protože vědí, ale nepoví.“

„Věčnost se skládá z dnešních dní.“

„Pokud čtu knihu, která mně ochladí tak, že žadný oheň mě neohřeje, vím, že je to poezie.“

„Omluvte mou příčetnost v šíleném světě.“

„Krása není vytvořená. Prostě je.“

„Žít je tak ohromující, že na nic jiného nezbývá čas.“

„Když jen jednou ulevím v trápení nebo žalu, když jenom jednou pomůžu v bolesti. Když jenom zvednu ptáčka vypadlého z hnízda, anebo zmírním něčí neštěstí. Pak nežila jsem nadarmo, nesešla na scestí.“

„Naděje je ta věc s peřím,
která žije ve tvé duši.
A zpívá melodii beze slov,
a vůbec nikdy se nezastaví.“

„Naděje je to s křídly, co hnízdí uvnitř nás a pěje píseň beze slov a stále zvedá hlas.“

„Když tě zradí nervy – proč bys nervů dbal?“

„Lepší je, co není. Dostaň to- smažeš všechen lesk.“

„Útrapy pochybnosti rozesmutní míň, než fakt ze železa, kalený tvým Vím.“

„Nejmilejší, nejpevnější přátelé duše - Knihy.“

„Lépe tě vidím v temnotě, světlo je zbytečné.“

„Přines mi západ slunce v šálku.“

„Ráno bez tebe je zmenšený úsvit.“

„A pak to prkno prasklo / a hloub a hloub jsem letěla…“

„Divoké noci - Divoké noci!
Kdybych byl s tebou
Divoké noci by měly být
Naším luxusem!

Marné - větry -
K srdci v přístavu -
Konec s kompasem -
Konec s mapou!

Veslování v ráji -
Ach, to moře!
Mohl bych zakotvit - Dnes v noci -
V tobě!“

„Vím, že nic na světě nemá tak velkou sílu jako slovo. Někdy jedno napíšu a dívám se na něj, dokud nezačne zářit.“

„Duše by měla být vždy otevřená - připravena přivítat extatický zážitek.“

„Tyto krásné květiny mě přivádějí do rozpaků.
Nutí mě litovat, že nejsem včelou...“

„Příroda je dům , v němž straší - ale umění je dům, který se snaží, aby v něm strašilo.“

„Moji přátelé jsou mým "majetkem".“

“I hope your rambles have been sweet, and your reveries spacious”

“Till I loved I never liked enough.”

“The truth I do not dare to know I muffle with a jest.”

“Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate,
Whose table once a Guest, but not
The second time, is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect,
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn;
Men eat of it and die.”

“The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth,--
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
Until eternity”

“A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think.”

“Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.”

“I see thee better in the dark
I do not need a light.”

“To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie—
True Poems flee”

“Tell all the truth but tell it slant.”

“I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.”

“We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies.

The heroism we recite
Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
For fear to be a king.”

“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”

“I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.”

“This is the Hour of Lead –
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go”

“I HIDE myself within my flower
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too—
And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness…”

“Bless God, he went as soldiers,
His musket on his breast;
Grant, God, he charge the bravest
Of all the martial blest.

Please God, might I behold him
In epauletted white,
I should not fear the foe then,
I should not fear the fight.”

“A death-blow is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun.”

“I heard a Fly buzz — when I died —
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air —
Between the Heaves of Storm”

“It makes no difference abroad,
The seasons fit the same,
The mornings blossom into noons,
And split their pods of flame.

Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,
The brooks brag all the day;
No blackbird bates his jargoning
For passing Calvary.

Auto-da-fé and judgment
Are nothing to the bee;
His separation from his rose
To him seems misery.”

“I reason, earth is short,
And anguish absolute.
And many hurt;
But what of that?

I reason, we could die:
The best vitality
Cannot excel decay;
But what of that?

I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new equation given;
But what of that?”

“How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And does n’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.”

“God preaches, a noted Clergyman —
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last—
I’m going, all along.”

“No rack can torture me,
My soul 's at liberty.
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one

You cannot prick with saw,
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee.

The eagle of his nest
No easier divest
And gain the sky,
Than mayest thou,

Except thyself may be
Thine enemy;
Captivity is consciousness,
So's liberty.”

“So proud she was to die
It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
To her desire seemed.

So satisfied to go
Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
Almost to jealousy.”

“I never hear the word “escape”
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
A flying attitude.I never hear of prisons broad
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars,—
Only to fail again!”

“There is a solitude of space,
A solitude of sea,
A solitude of death, but these
Society shall be,
Compared with that profounder site,
That polar privacy,
A Soul admitted to Itself:
Finite Infinity.”

“Could Hope inspect her Basis
Her Craft were done —
Has a fictitious Charter
Or it has none —

Balked in the vastest instance
But to renew —
Felled but by one assassin —
Prosperity —”

“The face we choose to miss,
Be it but for a day—
As absent as a hundred years
When it has rode away.”