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Terror made me cruel.

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
Cruel
Terror
Made

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Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!
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I see heaven's glories shine and faith shines equal.
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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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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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
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They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
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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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I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again - it is hers yet - he had hard work to stir me but he said it would change, if the air blew on it.
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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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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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He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments, 'till Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were his first prompts to higher pursuits and, instead of guarding him from one and winning him to the other, his endeavors to raise himself had produced just the contrary result.
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In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away
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You have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties, for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles.
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm's length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I'll rest.
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And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?
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You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
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