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

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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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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?
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Terror made me cruel.
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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
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Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper!
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But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm's length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I'll rest.
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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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Hereafter she is only my sister in name not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.
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In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
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My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will changeit,I'mwellaware, aswinterchangesthetrees. My Love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneatha source of little visible delight but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff.
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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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Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.
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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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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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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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Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be, And Thou wert left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee.
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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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