black
grey
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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

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

Eyes Feeling Forgiveness Hands Hard Love Murder Myself See Wasted
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
EMILY BRONTE

Love Myself Necessary Representation Visible
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
EMILY BRONTE

People Proud Sad Sorrow
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
I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after.
EMILY BRONTE

Dreams Life Myself Stay
How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
EMILY BRONTE

Avoid Hate Love Myself Strange Thinking
I never told my love vocally still.
EMILY BRONTE

Love Myself
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
If I could I would always work in silence and obscurity, and let my efforts be known by their results.
EMILY BRONTE

Effort Inspirational Myself Result Silence Work
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
EMILY BRONTE

Himself Love Myself Relationship Soul
I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
EMILY BRONTE

Hate Himself Memories Myself Remember
Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.
EMILY BRONTE

Return Thinking Torture
A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; And, deepening still the dreamlike charm, Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.
EMILY BRONTE

Beautiful Calm Earth Feed Heaven Nature Soft
Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
EMILY BRONTE

Identity Myself Sleep Time
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
I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it.
EMILY BRONTE

Break Escape Glory Heart Myself Pain Tears Wall World

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.

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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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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