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Joseph is the wearisomest and self-righteous Pharisee who ever ransacked the Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses on his neighbor.

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
Ever
Fling
Self
Joseph
Promises
Ransacked
Righteous
Pharisee
Curse
Rake
Neighbor
Rakes
Bible
Pharisees
Promise
Curses

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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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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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I see heaven's glories shine and faith shines equal.
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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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Hereafter she is only my sister in name not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.
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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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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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You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!
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He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction, a look of hatred unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.
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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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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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But there's this one difference: one is gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Mine has nothing valuable about it yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had first-rate qualities, and they are lost, rendered worst than unavailing.
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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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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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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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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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A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly.
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