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Neither birth nor sex forms a limit to genius.

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
Limit
Forms
Neither
Limits
Sex
Birth
Genius
Form

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That to begin with let respect be the foundation, affection the first floor, love the superstructure.
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Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties.
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Of late years an abundant shower of curates has fallen upon the North of England.
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Writers cannot choose their own mood: with them it is not always hide-tide, nor --thank Heaven!--always Storm.
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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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And with that answer, he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me down.
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It did not seem as if a prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquility was no more.
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Look twice before you leap.
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The writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master - something that, at times, strangely wills and works for itself.
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I was no pope - I could not boast infallibility.
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It would not be wicked to love me. It would to obey you.
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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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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.
Charlotte Bronte
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Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy them as they fly!
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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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But life is a battle: may we all be enabled to fight it well!
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What the deuce is to do now?
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A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow.
Charlotte Bronte
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You are afraid of me, because I talk like a sphinx.
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I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please. I look on them as things rootless and perishable their likeness to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I love I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me.
Charlotte Bronte