He was attached by ties stronger than reason could break — chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen.
EMILY BRONTEA good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly.
More Emily Bronte Quotes
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In secret pleasure — secret tears, This changeful life has slipped away.
EMILY BRONTE -
That is how I’m loved! Well, never mind. That is not my Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me: he’s in my soul.
EMILY BRONTE -
You’re hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can’t make yourself content.
EMILY BRONTE -
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 -
I understand that most ladies tend to prefer lap dogs…. Perhaps I am an exception.
EMILY BRONTE -
You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
EMILY BRONTE -
The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.
EMILY BRONTE -
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 -
If I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it.
EMILY BRONTE -
Earth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven!
EMILY BRONTE -
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
EMILY BRONTE -
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 -
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 -
I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
EMILY BRONTE -
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