"There is something to be told about us for the telling
of which we all wait.
In our unwilling ignorance we hurry to listen to stories of old human life, new human life, fancied human life, avid of something to while away the time of unanswered curiosity.
We know we are explainable, and not explained.
Many of the lesser things concerning us have been told but the greater things have not been told: and nothing can fill their place.
Whatever we learn of what is not ourselves, but ours to know, being of our universal world, will likewise leave the emptiness an emptiness.
Until the missing story of ourselves is told, nothing besides told can suffice us: we shall go on quietly craving it."
In our unwilling ignorance we hurry to listen to stories of old human life, new human life, fancied human life, avid of something to while away the time of unanswered curiosity.
We know we are explainable, and not explained.
Many of the lesser things concerning us have been told but the greater things have not been told: and nothing can fill their place.
Whatever we learn of what is not ourselves, but ours to know, being of our universal world, will likewise leave the emptiness an emptiness.
Until the missing story of ourselves is told, nothing besides told can suffice us: we shall go on quietly craving it."
Emily Dickinson. 1896