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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.

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
Please
Friends
Care
Many
Hard
Make
Cares
Content

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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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But there's this one difference: one is gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Mine has nothing valuable about it yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had first-rate qualities, and they are lost, rendered worst than unavailing.
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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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The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
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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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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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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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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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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to 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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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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No coward soul is mine.
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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!
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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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If I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it.
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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
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Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?
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