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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
Narrator
Narrators
Eagerness
Listener
Listeners
Tongue
Quickens

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Strange that grief should now almost choke me, because another human being's eye has failed to greet mine.
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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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It is always the way of events in this life,...no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of repose is expired.
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A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a play.
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At heart, he could not abide sense in women: he liked to see them as silly, as light-headed, as vain, as open to ridicule as possible because they were then in reality what he held them to be, and wished them to be,--inferior: toys to play with, to amuse a vacant hour and to be thrown away.
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The practice of hinting by single letters those expletives with which profane and violent persons are wont to garnish their discourse, strikes me as a proceeding which, however, well meant, is weak and futile. I cannot tell what good it does - what feeling it spares - what horror it conceals.
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I wished critics would judge me as an author, not as a woman.
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Wise people say it is folly to think anybody perfect and as to likes and dislikes, we should be friendly to all, and worship none
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Let your performance do the thinking.
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Everyone else is just cocktails.
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I only want an easy mind, sir not crushed by crowded obligations.
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We wove a web in childhood, A web of sunny air We dug a spring in infancy Of water pure and fair We sowed in youth a mustard seed, We cut an almond rod We are now grown up to riper age— Are they withered in the sod?
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Gentle, soft dream, nestling in my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fled before you: but kiss me before you go--embrace me, Jane.
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Fair as a lily, and not only the pride of life, but the desire of his eyes
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Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre remorse is the poison of life.
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I believe in some blending of hope and sunshine sweetening the worst lots. I believe that this life is not all neither the beginning nor the end. I believe while I tremble I trust while I weep.
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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 soon forgot storm in music.
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I mentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy. Mr. Rochester
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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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