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The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator.

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
Quickens
Narrator
Narrators
Eagerness
Listener
Listeners
Tongue

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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 believe while I tremble I trust while I weep.
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The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted.
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There's no use in weeping, Though we are condemned to part: There's such a thing as keeping, A remembrance in one's heart.
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And with that answer, he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me down.
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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.
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My future husband was becoming to me my whole world and more than the world: almost my hope of heaven. He stood between me and every thought of religion, as an eclipse intervenes between man and the broad sun. I could not, in those days, see God for His creature: of whom I had made an idol.
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Intelligence and proper education will give you independence of spirit.
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All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.
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Oh, I am not going to die, am I? He will not separate us, we have been so happy.
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What the deuce is to do now?
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God did not give me my life to throw it away.
Charlotte Bronte
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To you I am neither man nor woman. I come before you as an author only.
Charlotte Bronte
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You transfix me quite.
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Look twice before you leap.
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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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His mind was indeed my library, and whenever it was opened to me, I entered bliss.
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Que me voulez-vous?' said he in a growl of which the music was wholly confined to his chest and throat, for he kept his teeth clenched, and seemed registering to himself an inward vow that nothing earthly should wring from him a smile. My answer commenced uncompromisingly: - 'Monsieur,' I said, je veux l'impossible, des choses inouïes.
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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.
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Little Jane's love would have been my best reward, without it, my heart is broken.
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