Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed.

When Emily Dickinson wrote, “Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed,” she unveiled one of the deepest paradoxes of the human heart. Success, when tasted often, can lose its savor, becoming ordinary, even expected. But for those who reach and never grasp, for those who labor and yet fall short, the very idea of triumph becomes a jewel of inestimable worth. The thirsty man treasures water more than the one whose cup is always full. So too does the one who longs for victory feel its sweetness more than the one who wears the crown with ease.

The ancients themselves knew this truth. They told of Tantalus, cursed to stand in water that receded whenever he bent to drink, and beneath branches of fruit that withdrew when he reached for them. To him, a single drop of water would have been more precious than oceans to another. Dickinson’s words echo this same ancient wisdom: the value of success is magnified by its absence, and longing sharpens the appetite of the soul.

History offers us countless reflections of this truth. Think of Vincent van Gogh, who in his lifetime sold but a single painting, yet who poured his very soul into canvas after canvas. He died without the applause he longed for, yet posterity has crowned him a master. Can we not say that for Van Gogh, the idea of success, though never fully tasted, was sweeter than for many who lived in comfort and acclaim? His longing gave depth to his art, and his failures made him see beauty where others saw only shadow.

Dickinson’s words also carry a quiet warning. Those who live surrounded by triumph may grow numb to its value. The general who wins every battle may take victory for granted, but the soldier who has only known retreat and hardship will taste one moment of triumph as though it were nectar from heaven. Thus, success, like all precious things, is best understood through contrast—through loss, through striving, through the ache of the unattained.

And yet there is also heroism in this vision. For those who never succeed outwardly may still achieve something profound: the cultivation of desire, of yearning, of perseverance. Their struggle, though unrecognized by the world, gives them a deeper understanding of the sweetness of victory than the one who receives it without struggle. To hunger and thirst after something noble is itself a mark of greatness, even if the feast is never reached.

The lesson, then, is this: do not despise your failures, for they teach you the worth of the very thing you seek. If you do not yet grasp the crown, let the longing for it refine you. Let your defeats deepen your soul, so that when at last you succeed, you will treasure it as others cannot. And if success never comes, know that the longing itself has made you rich in understanding, for you have felt the sweetness in your heart, even if not in your hands.

Practically, this means embracing struggle as part of the journey. When others triumph and you do not, resist bitterness, and instead let their victories remind you of the sweetness of your own quest. When you strive and fail, write down what you have learned, and carry that wisdom as a greater treasure than ease could ever give. Remember that the one who always wins may never know what victory truly tastes like, while the one who longs and struggles knows its flavor in the very marrow of their being.

Thus, Dickinson’s wisdom stands eternal: success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed. It is a reminder that failure is not empty, but full of hidden riches, and that longing itself can ennoble the soul. Treasure your striving, guard your desire, and let your defeats teach you to savor the sweetness of victory, whether it comes in this life or only in the silent triumph of the spirit.