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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.

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
Heathers
Fled
Gone
Country
Heather

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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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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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I understand that most ladies tend to prefer lap dogs.... Perhaps I am an exception.
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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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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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I see heaven's glories shine and faith shines equal.
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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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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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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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I take so little interest in my daily life, that I hardly remember to eat and drink.
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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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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
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wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
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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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By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
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Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper!
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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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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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