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He turned away he threw himself on his face on the sofa. 'Oh, Jane! my hope - my love - my life!' broke in anguish from his lips.
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
Anguish
Love
Broke
Life
Lips
Turned
Sofa
Face
Sofas
Faces
Threw
Hope
Jane
Away
More quotes by Charlotte Bronte
There is, in lovers, a certain infatuation of egotism they will have a witness of their happiness, cost that witness what it may.
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I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you.
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I mentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy. Mr. Rochester
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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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I mean that I value vision, and dread being struck stone blind.
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Poverty, for me, is synonymous with degradation.
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Liberty lends us her wings and Hope guides us by her star.
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If he were insane, however, his was a very cool and collected insanity.
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You had no right to be born for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person's strength.
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I both wished and feared to see Mr. Rochester on the day which followed this sleepless night. I wanted to hear his voice again, yet feared to meet his eye.
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I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss. I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.
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In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers are very well but how many wet days are there in life—November seasons of disaster, when a man's hearth and home would be cold indeed, without the clear, cheering gleam of intellect.
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He was the first to recognise me, and to love what he saw.
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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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A beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance.
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Jane, I never meant to wound you thus...Will you ever forgive me? Reader, I forgave him at the moment and on the spot.
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As far as my experience of matrimony goes -- I think it tends to draw you out of, and away from yourself.
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Love me, then, or hate me, as you will, I said at last, you have my full and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace.
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There are certain phrases potent to make my blood boil -- improper influence! What old woman's cackle is that? Are you a young lady? I am a thousand times better: I am an honest woman, and as such I will be treated.
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The cool peace and dewy sweetness of the night filled me with a mood of hope: not hope on any definite point, but a general sense of encouragement and heart-ease.
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