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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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If I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it.
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You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!
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Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.
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No coward soul is mine.
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I will walk where my own nature would be leading.
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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Terror made me cruel.
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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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Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But if you be afraid of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she comes in.
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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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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
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I'm happiest when most away I can bear my soul from its home of clay On a windy night when the moon is bright And the eye can wander through worlds of light— When I am not and none beside— Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky— But only spirit wandering wide Through infinite immensity.
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Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?
Emily Bronte
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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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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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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