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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.

Emily Bronte

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Emily Bronte
Age: 30 †
Born: 1818
Born: July 30
Died: 1848
Died: December 19
Novelist
Poet
Thornton
West Yorkshire
Ellis Bell
Emily Jane Brontë
Aimili Bolangte
Emili Bronte
Emily Jane Bronte
Ai-mi-li Po-lang-tʻe
Ėmilii︠a︡ Bronte
エ ミ リ ー ブ ロ ン テ
Pride
Proud
People
Emily
Breed
Sorrows
Sorrow

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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.
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Earnsha was not to be civilized with a wish, and my young lady was no philosopher, and no paragon of patience but both their minds tending to the same point - one loving and desiring to esteem, and the other loving and desiring to be esteemed - they contrived in the end to reach it.
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I take so little interest in my daily life, that I hardly remember to eat and drink.
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But if you be afraid of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she comes in.
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I cannot express it: but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you.
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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
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We must be for ourselves in the long run the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering.
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By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
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He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, 'Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!' he said. 'It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!
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If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child Forsake thy books, and mate less play And, while the night is gathering grey, We'll talk its pensive hours away.
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