Poverty, for me, is synonymous with degradation.
CHARLOTTE BRONTEOh! that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force!
More Charlotte Bronte Quotes
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Reader, I married him.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
Memory in youth is active and easily impressible; in old age it is comparatively callous to new impressions, but still retains vividly those of earlier years.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
He was the first to recognise me, and to love what he saw.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
I have no wish to talk nonsense.” “If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
I mean that I value vision, and dread being struck stone blind.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
Jane Eyre “I desired more…than was within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn’t help it: the restlessness is in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
You have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
They will both be happy, and I do not grudge them their bliss; but I groan under my own misery: some of my suffering is very acute. Truly, I ought not to have been born: they should have smothered me at first cry.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
Such is the imperfect nature of man! such spots are there on the disc of the clearest planet; and eyes like Miss Scatcherd’s can only see those minute defects, and are blind to the full brightness of the orb.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
Oh madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burnt porridge, into these children’s mouths, you may indeed feed their vile bodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
Tact, if it be genuine, never sleeps.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE -
I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please. I look on them as things rootless and perishable; their likeness to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I love; I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me.
CHARLOTTE BRONTE