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It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you.

Charlotte Bronte

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Charlotte Bronte
Age: 38 †
Born: 1816
Born: April 21
Died: 1855
Died: March 31
Novelist
Poet
Thornton
West Yorkshire
Syarŭllotʻŭ Pŭrontʻe
Ш. Бронте
Syarŭllotʻŭ Bŭrontʻe
Xialuodi Bolangte
Шарлотта Бронте
Sharlotta Bronte
Charles Wellesley
Charlotte Bronte
Cārla$15ṭti Pirāṇṭē
Douro
Karlotta Bronte
Mrs. Arthur Bell Nicholls
Tree
Florian Wellesley
Lord Charles Albert
Currer Bell
Charlotte Nicholls
Mrs. A. B. Nicholls
Hsia-lo-ti Po-lang-tʻe
Feels
Consequence
Connected
Hasty
Smart
Patiently
Whose
Extend
Nobody
Consequences
Evil
Patience
Action
Commit
Better
Endure

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It is not violence that best overcomes hate -- nor vengeance that most certainly heals injury.
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What the deuce is to do now?
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You transfix me quite.
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I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I'm afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I'd take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you'd forget me.
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Jane Eyre I desired more...than was within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn't help it: the restlessness is in my nature it agitated me to pain sometimes.
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I believe while I tremble I trust while I weep.
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If he were insane, however, his was a very cool and collected insanity.
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The man of regular life and rational mind never despairs.
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He is not to them what he is to me.
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A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away-away-to an indefinite distance-it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept.
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He was the first to recognise me, and to love what he saw.
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Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned.
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God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness -- to glory?
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flattery would be worse than vain there is no consolation in flattery.
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You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it.
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As to the thoughts, they are elfish. Those eyes in the Evening Star you must have seen in a dream.
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What tale do you like best to hear?' 'Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the same theme - courtship and promise to end in the same catastrophe - marriage.
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On the contrary, I'm a universal patriot, if you could understand me rightly: my country is the world.
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Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in that existence which is given away to others, for want of something of your own to bestow it on?
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Writers cannot choose their own mood: with them it is not always hide-tide, nor --thank Heaven!--always Storm.
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