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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.
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
Marriage
Courtship
Hear
Catastrophe
Choices
Tale
Running
Theme
Ends
Tales
Best
Generally
Much
Promise
Like
Choice
More quotes by Charlotte Bronte
I was no pope - I could not boast infallibility.
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God did not give me my life to throw it away.
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Everyone else is just cocktails.
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Cheerfulness, it would appear, is a matter which depends fully as much on the state of things within, as on the state of things without and around us.
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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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If life be a war, it seemed my destiny to conduct it single-handed.
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[O]ur honeymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over your grave or mine.
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I must, then, repeat continually that we are forever sundered - and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.' - Jane Eyre
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I thank my Maker, that in the midst of judgment he has remembered mercy. I humbly entreat my Redeemer to give me strength to lead henceforth a purer life than I have done hitherto.
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But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience?
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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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Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home—my only home.
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Poverty, for me, is synonymous with degradation.
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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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Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at it for myself. We were born to strive and endure - you as well as I: do so. You will forget me before I forget you.
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There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
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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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Unlawful pleasure, trenching on another's rights, is delusive and envenomed pleasureits hollowness disappoints at the time, its poison cruelly tortures afterwards, its effects deprave forever.
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It is a long way off, sir From what Jane? From England and from Thornfield: and ___ Well? From you, sir
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I like this day I like that sky of steel I like the sternness and stillness of the world under this frost.
Charlotte Bronte