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Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.

Anne Bronte

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Anne Bronte
Age: 29 †
Born: 1820
Born: January 17
Died: 1849
Died: May 28
Governess
Novelist
Poet
Thornton
West Yorkshire
Acton Bell
Ann Brontë
Anne Bronte
Ann Bronte
Annie Bronte
Sick
Tears
Longer
Eyes
Woe
Though
Weeping
Eye
Weary
Heart
Flow
Tired

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In love affairs, there is no mediator like a merry, simple-hearted child - ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span the unfriendly gulf of custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and overthrow the separating walls of dread formality and pride.
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What a fool you must be, said my head to my heart, or my sterner to my softer self.
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He had not breathed a word of love, or dropped one hint of tenderness or affection, and yet I had been supremely happy. To be near him, to hear him talk as he did talk, and to feel that he thought me worthy to be so spoken to - capable of understanding and duly appreciating such discourse - was enough.
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To regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of Heaven, is as if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in their sunny petals.
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And why should he interest himself at all in my moral and intellectual capacities: what is it to him what I think and feel?' I asked myself. And my heart throbbed in answer to the question.
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I am truly miserable - more so than I like to acknowledge to myself. Pride refuses to aid me. It has brought me into the scrape, and will not help me out of it.
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All our talents increase in the using, and every faculty, both good and bad, strengthens by exercise.
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Chess-players are so unsociable, they are no company for any but themselves.
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No one can be happy in eternal solitude.
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You might as well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry man you dislike.
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All true histories contain instruction though, in some, the treasure may be hard to find, and when found, so trivial in quantity, that the dry, shriveled kernel scarcely compensates for the trouble of cracking the nut.
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There are great books in this world and great worlds in books.
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If you would have your son to walk honourably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them - not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone.
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But smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad.
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A man must have something to grumble about and if he cant complain that his wife harries him to death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must complain that she wears him out with her kindness and gentleness.
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