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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn against him, they crush those beneath them.

Emily Bronte

A person who has not done one half his day’s work by ten o clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone.
EMILY BRONTE

Chance Leaving Person Run Work
I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
EMILY BRONTE

Children Freedom Girl Hard Myself Savage
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
EMILY BRONTE

People Proud Sad Sorrow
I cannot love thee; thou ‘rt worse than thy brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, and ask God’s pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever reared thee!
EMILY BRONTE

Brother Doubt God Love Mom Myself Prayer Worst
Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?
EMILY BRONTE

Himself Imagination Love Thinking Yourself
Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
EMILY BRONTE

Death Live Value
They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
EMILY BRONTE

Forget Love Relationship Togetherness
Yes, as my swift days near their goal, ’tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, with courage to endure.
EMILY BRONTE

Courage Day Death Endurance Goal Life Soul
Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
EMILY BRONTE

Common Joy Melancholy Sweet Time
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
EMILY BRONTE

Myself Stranger Universe
Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy.
EMILY BRONTE

Angel Angry Break Earth Heart Heaven Home Joy Myself Wake Up
You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
EMILY BRONTE

Existence Forget Myself Yourself
Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.
EMILY BRONTE

End Enemy Violence Worst Wound
The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.
EMILY BRONTE

Autumn Black Darkness Old Wind
It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,’ he answered. ‘Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?
EMILY BRONTE

Eyes Feeling Forgiveness Hands Hard Love Murder Myself See Wasted
You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
EMILY BRONTE

Forgiveness Struggle Yourself

The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn against him, they crush those beneath them.

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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn against him, they crush those beneath them.

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Popular Authors

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