black
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Worthless as wither’d weeds.

Emily Bronte

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
I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town.
EMILY BRONTE

Country Happiness Quite Seek Society Town
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
You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
EMILY BRONTE

Forgiveness Struggle Yourself
I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
EMILY BRONTE

Country Myself Run Travel
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
EMILY BRONTE

People Proud Sad Sorrow
Terror made me cruel; and finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes.
EMILY BRONTE

Blood Break Creature Cruelty Run Terrorism
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
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
EMILY BRONTE

Autumn Bliss Leaves Talk Tree
I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.
EMILY BRONTE

Action Head Himself Love Togetherness Touch Word
She burned too bright for this world.
EMILY BRONTE

Bright Burn Herself Instagram Captions World
We must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering.
EMILY BRONTE

Domination Generosity Ourselves Run Selfish
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
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
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
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

Worthless as wither’d weeds.

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Worthless as wither’d weeds.

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