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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.

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
Years
Puny
Love
Ardor
Eighty
Classic
Powers
Couldn
Loved
Linton
Much
Trough

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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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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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Honest people don't hide their deeds.
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I take so little interest in my daily life, that I hardly remember to eat and drink.
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If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
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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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Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
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I'll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty!
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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 will walk where my own nature would be leading.
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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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He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, 'Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!
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He’s more myself than I am
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