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Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.

Emily Bronte

I have to remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat!
EMILY BRONTE

Breathe Heart Myself
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
If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.
EMILY BRONTE

Ability Day Love Measurement Myself Power
How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling.
EMILY BRONTE

Burn Cruelty Ice Myself Water Yourself
Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!
EMILY BRONTE

Drive Form Life Live Mad Myself Soul Togetherness
The clock strikes off the hollow half-hours of all the life that is left to you, one by one.
EMILY BRONTE

Clock Life Oneself Time
Cold in the earth and the deeps now piled above thee, Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Severed at last byTime’s all-serving wave?
EMILY BRONTE

Cold Deep Earth Forgot Grave Love Service Wave
I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be — that proves I love him better than myself.
EMILY BRONTE

Better Himself Live Love Misery Night Prayer
There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou – Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.
EMILY BRONTE

Art Breathe Death Destroy Room
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
I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it.
EMILY BRONTE

Break Escape Glory Heart Myself Pain Tears Wall World
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
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
EMILY BRONTE

Love Myself Necessary Representation Visible
The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
EMILY BRONTE

Destruction Himself Slave
Terror made me cruel.
EMILY BRONTE

Cruelty Myself Terrorism
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

Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.

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Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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