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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?

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
Feel
Kissing
Feels
Eyes
Love
Eye
Murderer
Hands
Wasted
Look
Answered
Looks
Forgive
Done
Kiss
Hard
Forgiving

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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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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.
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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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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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It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.
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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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If I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it.
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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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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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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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 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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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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He... was attached by ties stronger than reason could break -- chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen.
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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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If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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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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No coward soul is mine.
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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