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Chess-players are so unsociable, they are no company for any but themselves.

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
Player
Company
Unsociable
Chess
Players

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I possess the faculty of enjoying the company of those I - of my friends as well in silence as in conversation.
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I see that a man cannot give himself up to drinking without being miserable one half his days and mad the other.
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When a lady condescends to apologise, there is no keeping one’s anger.
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Farewell to Thee! But not farewell To all my fondest thoughts of Thee Within my heart they still shall dwell And they shall cheer and comfort me.
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I do believe a young lady can't be too careful who she marries.
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What the world stigmatizes as romantic is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed.
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I love the silent hour of night, for blissful dreams may then arise, revealing to my charmed sight what may not bless my waking eyes.
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There are great books in this world and great worlds in books.
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Thank heaven, I am free and safe at last!
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It is better to arm and strengthen your hero, than to disarm and enfeeble your foe.
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God will judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say about us.
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You might as well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry man you dislike.
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Yet, should thy darkest fears be true, If Heaven be so severe, That such a soul as thine is lost, Oh! how shall I appear?
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If you would have a boy to despise his mother, let her keep him at home, and spend her life in petting him up, and slaving to indulge his follies and caprices.
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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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Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.
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Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one whom you know to be suspected and despised by all around you, and identify your interests and your honor with hers?
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A light wind swept over the corn, and all nature laughed in the sunshine.
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There is always a but in this imperfect world.
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I wished to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it.
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