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I seem to have gathered up a stray lamb in my arms: you wandered out of the fold to seek your shepherd, did you, Jane?
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
Lambs
Gathered
Folds
Wandered
Jane
Stray
Seek
Shepherd
Arms
Lamb
Seem
Fold
Seems
Shepherds
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Flirting is a woman’s trade, one must keep in practice.
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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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God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness -- to glory?
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To see and know the worst is to take from Fear her main advantage.
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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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They will both be happy, and I do not grudge them their bliss but I groan under my own misery: some of my suffering is very acute. Truly, I ought not to have been born: they should have smothered me at first cry.
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I ask you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self, and best earthly companion.
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Unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules.
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There is, in lovers, a certain infatuation of egotism they will have a witness of their happiness, cost that witness what it may.
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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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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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There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms.
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Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre remorse is the poison of life.
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Some of the best people that ever lived have been as destitute as I am and if you are a Christian, you ought not to consider poverty a crime.
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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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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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Conventionality is not morality.
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If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!
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I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.
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It did not seem as if a prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquility was no more.
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