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

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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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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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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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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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Are you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so intently that puss's neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?
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It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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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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Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!' he said. 'It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!
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By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
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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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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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No coward soul is mine.
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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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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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Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper!
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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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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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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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