black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

Emily Bronte

I cannot express it: but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you.
EMILY BRONTE

Beyond Existence Expression Yourself
I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide: Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding; Where the wild wind blows on the mountain-side.
EMILY BRONTE

Choice Feed Guide Leadership Mountain Nature Walk Wild
What kind of living will it be when you – Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
EMILY BRONTE

Deep Grave Kind Live Soul Yourself
Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
EMILY BRONTE

Common Joy Melancholy Sweet Time
You know, I’ve had a bitter, hard life since I last heard your voice and if I’ve survived it’s all because of you.
EMILY BRONTE

Bitter Hard Life Survive Voice Yourself
Worthless as wither’d weeds.
EMILY BRONTE

Plants Worth
How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling.
EMILY BRONTE

Burn Cruelty Ice Myself Water Yourself
I never told my love vocally still.
EMILY BRONTE

Love Myself
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
Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?
EMILY BRONTE

Bloom Constant Friendship Love Rose Wild
I understand that most ladies tend to prefer lap dogs…. Perhaps I am an exception.
EMILY BRONTE

Choice Dog Exception Understand Woman
Earth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven!
EMILY BRONTE

Blessing Earth Heaven Reserve
The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mate less play; And, while the night is gathering grey, We’ll talk its pensive hours away.
EMILY BRONTE

Loud Night Play Wild Wind Winter
I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.
EMILY BRONTE

Break Up Death Heart Himself Love Myself Return
I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free… Why am I so changed? I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills.
EMILY BRONTE

Freedom Girl Hard Myself Savage
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
EMILY BRONTE

Love Myself Necessary Representation Visible

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

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Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

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Popular Authors

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