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Honest people don't hide their deeds.

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
People
Hide
Deeds
Honesty
Honest
Reality

More quotes by Emily Bronte

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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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What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
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Hereafter she is only my sister in name not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.
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He shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
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No coward soul is mine.
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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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A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air And, deepening still the dreamlike charm, Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?
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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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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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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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Terror made me cruel.
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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?
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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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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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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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