It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.
EMILY BRONTEBy this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
More Emily Bronte Quotes
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I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town.
EMILY BRONTE -
By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
EMILY BRONTE -
I see heaven’s glories shine and faith shines equal.
EMILY BRONTE -
You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!
EMILY BRONTE -
It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him.
EMILY BRONTE -
I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be — that proves I love him better than myself.
EMILY BRONTE -
It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,’ he answered. ‘Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?
EMILY BRONTE -
She burned too bright for this world.
EMILY BRONTE -
I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.
EMILY BRONTE -
I have to remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat!
EMILY BRONTE -
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
EMILY BRONTE -
We must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering.
EMILY BRONTE -
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 -
I cannot love thee; thou ‘rt worse than thy brother. Go, say thy prayers, child, and ask God’s pardon. I doubt thy mother and I must rue that we ever reared thee!
EMILY BRONTE -
Worthless as wither’d weeds.
EMILY BRONTE







