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Rochester: I am to take mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of the white valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with me there, and only me.

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
Among
Volcano
Shall
Tops
White
Volcanoes
Live
Cave
Take
Caves
Valleys
Seek
Mademoiselle
Moon
Rochester

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Peril, loneliness, an uncertain future, are not oppressive evils, so long as the frame is healthy and the faculties are employed so long, especially, as Liberty lends us her wings, and Hope guides us by her star.
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Everyone else is just cocktails.
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I have no wish to talk nonsense. If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense.
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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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Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive.
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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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Shake me off, then, sir--push me away for I'll not leave you of my own accord.
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I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.
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Now it is not everybody, even amongst our respected friends and esteemed acquaintance, whom we like to have near us, whom we like to watch us, to wait on us, to approach us with the proximity of a nurse to a patient. It is not every friend whose eye is a light in a sickroom, whose presence is there a solace.
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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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My love has placed her little hand With noble faith in mine, And vowed that wedlock's sacred band Our nature shall entwine. My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, With me to live -- to die I have at last my nameless bliss: As I love -- loved am I!
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Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour ... If at my convenience I might break them, what would be their worth?
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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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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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Better to be without logic than without feeling.
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A depressing and difficult passage has prefaced every page I have turned in life.
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Youth has its romance, and maturity its wisdom, as morning and spring have their freshness, noon and summer their power, night and winter their repose. Each attribute is good in its own season.
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You, Jane, I must have you for my own--entirely my own.
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I sat down and tried to rest. I could not though I had been on foot all day, I could not now repose an instant I was too much excited. A phase of my life was closing tonight, a new one opening tomorrow: impossible to slumber in the interval I must watch feverishly while the change was being accomplished.
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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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