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

More quotes by Emily Bronte

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Heaven did not seem to be my home and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights where I woke sobbing for joy.
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Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?
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No coward soul is mine.
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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
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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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wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
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Honest people don't hide their deeds.
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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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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.
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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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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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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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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
Emily Bronte
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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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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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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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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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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