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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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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
Much
Pleasure
Enjoying
Things
Getting
Rush
Sound
Sounds
Enjoy
West
Living
Sight
Business
City
Roar
Ends
Cities
Sights
Seems
Serious
Earnest
More quotes by Charlotte Bronte
You had no right to be born for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person's strength.
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What the deuce is to do now?
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A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away-away-to an indefinite distance-it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept.
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Silence is of different kinds, and breathes different meanings.
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I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time--I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you.
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Look twice before you leap.
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There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
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Am I hideous, Jane? Very, sir: you always were, you know.
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The cool peace and dewy sweetness of the night filled me with a mood of hope: not hope on any definite point, but a general sense of encouragement and heart-ease.
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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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A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow.
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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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A beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor pencilled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance.
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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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Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in that existence which is given away to others, for want of something of your own to bestow it on?
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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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I mentally shake hands with you for your answer, despite its inaccuracy. Mr. Rochester
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Little Jane's love would have been my best reward, without it, my heart is broken.
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And with that answer, he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me down.
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Let your performance do the thinking.
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