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Honest people don’t hide their deeds.

Emily Bronte

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

Burn Cruelty Ice Myself Water Yourself
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
By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
EMILY BRONTE

Alone Deserve Heart Myself Praise Reputation
It is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to forgive.
EMILY BRONTE

Cruelty Forgiveness God Learning People Punishment
Earth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven!
EMILY BRONTE

Blessing Earth Heaven Reserve
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
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
But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm’s length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I’ll rest.
EMILY BRONTE

Man Reach Struggle Water Yourself
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go.
EMILY BRONTE

Cold Darkness Myself Night Wild Wind
I’ll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty!
EMILY BRONTE

Choice Dirty Myself
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

Freedom Heart Man Move Waste Time Worth
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
EMILY BRONTE

Autumn Bliss Leaves Talk Tree
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
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
I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
EMILY BRONTE

Children Freedom Girl Hard Myself Savage
Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
EMILY BRONTE

Common Joy Melancholy Sweet Time

Honest people don’t hide their deeds.

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Honest people don’t hide their deeds.

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