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The clock strikes off the hollow half-hours of all the life that is left to you, one by one.
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
Clock
Strikes
Hours
Half
Left
Life
Hollow
More quotes by Emily Bronte
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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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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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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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to me.
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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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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again - it is hers yet - he had hard work to stir me but he said it would change, if the air blew on it.
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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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Honest people don't hide their deeds.
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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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Terror made me cruel.
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They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
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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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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?
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I will walk where my own nature would be leading.
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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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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
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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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