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I grant an ugly woman is a blot on the fair face of creation but as to the gentleman, let them be solicitous to possess only strength and valour: let their motto be:Hunt, shoot, and fight: the rest is not worth a flip.

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
Woman
Creation
Motto
Worth
Grants
Solicitous
Strength
Possess
Blot
Fight
Gentleman
Valour
Rest
Shoot
Hunt
Face
Fairs
Hunts
Fighting
Fair
Flip
Faces
Ugly
Grant

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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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Tact, if it be genuine, never sleeps.
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There is no happiness like that of being loved by your fellow creatures, and feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort.
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Do you like him much? I told you I liked him a little. Where is the use of caring for him so very much: he is full of faults. Is he? All boys are. More than girls? Very likely.
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Unlawful pleasure, trenching on another's rights, is delusive and envenomed pleasure—its hollowness disappoints at the time, its poison cruelly tortures afterwards, its effects deprave forever.
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Children can feel, but they cannot analyse their feelings and if the analysis is partially effected in thought, they know not how to express the result of the process in words.
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The eagerness of a listener quickens the tongue of a narrator.
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After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love--I have found you.
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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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To you I am neither man nor woman. I come before you as an author only.
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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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My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler breathings of April the nights and mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the very blood in our veins we could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden.
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Reader, I literally married him.
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I mentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy. Mr. Rochester
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Conventionality is not morality.
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flattery would be worse than vain there is no consolation in flattery.
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I believe while I tremble I trust while I weep.
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I longed for a power of vision which might overpass that limit which might reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen: that I desired more of practical experience than I possessed more of intercourse with my kind, of acquaintance with variety of character, than was here within my reach.
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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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It would not be wicked to love me. It would to obey you.
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