Emily Dickinson Quotes

You’re my change of skin / my summer-winter-fall / I spring to follow you / this loss is beautiful.

Now Spring returns; but not to me returns.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

It almost seems as if autumn were the true creator, more creative than the spring, which is too even-toned, more creative when it comes with its will-to-change and shatters the much too ready-made, self-satisfied and really almost bourgeois-complacent image of summer.

I don't think you can ever return, really.

When snow melts, what does it become?' It becomes water, of course' Wrong! It becomes spring!

If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!

It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.

Leaving America is like losing twenty pounds and finding a new girlfriend.

A wind has blown the rain away and blown the sky away and all the leaves away, and the trees stand. I think, I too, have known autumn too long.

Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter into another!

Sometimes you need to break away from something in order to know how much you need or want it.

I really missed the East Coast. I love living in Hawaii, but I miss the changing of seasons.

The thing about leaving New York is that you can come back.

You can miss someone every day and still be glad you don't have to see them.

You'll drift apart, it's true, but you'll be out in the open, part of everything alive again.

He missed you like a fish in a bowl misses the open sea.

Don't hold together what must fall apart. The familiar life crumbles so the new life can begin.

Autumn is leaving its mellowness behind for its spiky, rotted stage. Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.

Don't remember summer even saying goodbye.

You been gone too long, Sula. Not too long, but maybe too far.

We loiter in winter while it is already spring.

When faced with a loss, it is no use trying to recover what has gone. On the other hand, a great space has been opened up in your life - there it lies, empty, waiting to be filled with something new. At the moment of one's loss, contradictory as this might seem, one is being given a large slice of freedom.