By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
EMILY BRONTEIt 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?
More Emily Bronte Quotes
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The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.
EMILY BRONTE -
If 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 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 -
Earth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven!
EMILY BRONTE -
Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.
EMILY BRONTE -
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 -
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 -
You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
EMILY BRONTE -
Good words,” I replied. “But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you don’t forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.
EMILY BRONTE -
How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling.
EMILY BRONTE -
He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!
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 shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
EMILY BRONTE -
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 -
It is strange people should be so greedy, when they are alone in the world.
EMILY BRONTE