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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?

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
Memory
Seek
Divinest
Empty
Rapturous
Deep
Languish
Memories
Indulge
Pain
Anguish
Even
Dare
World
Drinking

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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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The clock strikes off the hollow half-hours of all the life that is left to you, one by one.
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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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I will walk where my own nature would be leading.
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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 have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties, for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles.
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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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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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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
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wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
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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'll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty!
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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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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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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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