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You are afraid of me, because I talk like a sphinx.
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
Sphinx
Afraid
Talk
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More quotes by Charlotte Bronte
Look twice before you leap.
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I wished critics would judge me as an author, not as a woman.
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The City seems so much more in earnest: its business, its rush, its roar are such serious things, sights and sounds. The City is getting its living - the West-End but enjoying its pleasure.
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You transfix me quite.
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Tact, if it be genuine, never sleeps.
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What tale do you like best to hear?' 'Oh, I have not much choice! They generally run on the same theme - courtship and promise to end in the same catastrophe - marriage.
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Liberty lends us her wings and Hope guides us by her star.
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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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It would not be wicked to love me. It would to obey you.
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What necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer-the Future so much brighter?
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He is not to them what he is to me.
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Gentle reader, may you never feel what I then felt! May your eyes never shed such stormy, scalding, heart-wrung tears as poured from mine. May you never appeal to Heaven in prayers so hopeless and so agised as in that hour left my lips: for never may you, like me, dread to be the instrument of evil to what you wholly love.
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Friends always forget those whom fortune forsakes.
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On the contrary, I'm a universal patriot, if you could understand me rightly: my country is the world.
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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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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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While I loved, and while I was loved, what an existence I enjoyed!
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That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of life that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on sweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.
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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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He is not to them what he is to me, I thought: he is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine- I am sure he is- I feel akin to him- I understand the language of his countenance and movements: though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.
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