Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world’s tide is bearing me along; Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.
EMILY BRONTESweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world’s tide is bearing me along; Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.
EMILY BRONTEHow strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
EMILY BRONTEI have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.
EMILY BRONTELook on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.
EMILY BRONTEYes, as my swift days near their goal, ’tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, with courage to endure.
EMILY BRONTEI will walk where my own nature would be leading.
EMILY BRONTEHonest people don’t hide their deeds.
EMILY BRONTEEarth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven!
EMILY BRONTEYou 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 BRONTEVain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.
EMILY BRONTEHow cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling.
EMILY BRONTEIf 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 BRONTEI gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me.
EMILY BRONTEHeaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy.
EMILY BRONTEThe old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.
EMILY BRONTEThe entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
EMILY BRONTE