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
Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.
More Emily Bronte Quotes
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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 -
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 -
No coward soul is mine.
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 -
Wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
EMILY BRONTE -
A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly.
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 -
I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
EMILY BRONTE -
The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
EMILY BRONTE -
He’ll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to loved or hated again.
EMILY BRONTE -
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
EMILY BRONTE -
Worthless as wither’d weeds.
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 -
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 -
Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.
EMILY BRONTE -
She burned too bright for this world.
EMILY BRONTE