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Emily Dickinson Quotes about Hurt

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Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

Emily Dickinson
Hurt
Emily Dickinson, “'Tis Not That Dying Hurts Us So”

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

Emily Dickinson
Hurt, Trying, Wonder
Emily Dickinson (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Emily Dickinson (Illustrated)”, p.176, Delphi Classics

A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs,, A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, you're hurt exclaim.

Emily Dickinson
Hurt, Spring, Rocks
Emily Dickinson (1994). “The Works of Emily Dickinson”, p.5, Wordsworth Editions

She dealt her pretty words like Blades -- How glittering they shone -- And every One unbared a Nerve Or wantoned with a Bone -- She never deemed -- she hurt -- That -- is not Steel's Affair -- A vulgar grimace in the Flesh -- How ill the Creatures bear -- To Ache is human -- not polite -- The Film upon the eye Mortality's old Custom -- Just locking up -- to Die.

Emily Dickinson
Hurt, Eye, Steel
Emily Dickinson (2012). “Emily Dickinson: Everyman's Poetry”, p.83, Hachette UK

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.

Emily Dickinson
Hurt, Wine, Years
Emily Dickinson, “I Had Been Hungry All The Years”

There's a certain Slant of light, Winter afternoons— That oppresses, like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes— Heavenly Hurt, it gives us— We can find no scar, But internal difference, Where the Meanings, are.... When it comes, the Landscape listens— Shadows—hold their breath— When it goes, 'tis like the Distance On the look of Death.

Emily Dickinson
Hurt, Distance, Winter
'There's a certain Slant of light' (c.1861)

We dream — it is good we are dreaming — It would hurt us — were we awake — But since it is playing — kill us, And we are playing — shriek — What harm? Men die — externally — It is a truth — of Blood — But we — are dying in Drama — And Drama — is never dead — Cautious — We jar each other — And either — open the eyes — Lest the Phantasm — prove the Mistake — And the livid Surprise Cool us to Shafts of Granite — With just an Age — and Name — And perhaps a phrase in Egyptian — It's prudenter — to dream —

Emily Dickinson
Dream, Hurt, Drama
Emily Dickinson (1998). “The Poems of Emily Dickinson”, p.408, Harvard University Press

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