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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?

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
Living
Soul
Live
Kind
Would
Like
Grave
Graves

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I'm happiest when most away I can bear my soul from its home of clay On a windy night when the moon is bright And the eye can wander through worlds of light— When I am not and none beside— Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky— But only spirit wandering wide Through infinite immensity.
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Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper!
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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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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 must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable. Because you are not fit to go there, I answered. All sinners would be miserable in heaven.
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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to me.
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There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou - Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed.
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The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again
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I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free... Why am I so changed? I'm sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills.
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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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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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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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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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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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Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.
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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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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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