Quote

Life is still life, whatever its pangs our eyes and ears and their use remain with us, though the prospect of what pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of what consoles must be silenced.

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
Eye
Prospect
Sound
Wholly
Use
Remain
Consoles
Stills
Ears
Pangs
Still
Please
Withdrawn
Must
Eyes
Silenced
Life
Though
Console
Whatever
Pleases

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Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day.
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Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last.
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Little Jane's love would have been my best reward, without it, my heart is broken.
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Look twice before you leap.
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Out of association grows adhesion, and out of adhesion amalgamation.
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I have not broken your heart - you have broken it and in breaking it, you have broken mine.
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I was no pope - I could not boast infallibility.
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Better to be without logic than without feeling.
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Self abandoned, relaxed and effortless, I seemed to have laid me down in the dried-up bed of a great river I heard a flood loosened in remote mountains, I felt the torrent come to rise I had no will, to flee I had no strength.
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Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy them as they fly!
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The shadows are as important as the light.
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You are afraid of me, because I talk like a sphinx.
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Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at it for myself. We were born to strive and endure - you as well as I: do so. You will forget me before I forget you.
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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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Unlawful pleasure, trenching on another's rights, is delusive and envenomed pleasure—its hollowness disappoints at the time, its poison cruelly tortures afterwards, its effects deprave forever.
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Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home—my only home.
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I can be on guard against my enemies, but God deliver me from my friends!
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I scorn your idea of love,' I could not help saying, as I rose up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. 'I scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I scorn you when you offer it.
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Poverty, for me, is synonymous with degradation.
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