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Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!' he said. 'It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!

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
Lambs
Cathy
Bulls
Knuckles
Knocking
Splitting
Sorry
Skull
Danger
Lamb
Worth
Threatens
Like
Bull
Mortally
Skulls
Linton

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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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Are you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so intently that puss's neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?
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I despise him for himself, and hate him for the memories he revives!
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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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How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
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You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child Forsake thy books, and mate less play And, while the night is gathering grey, We'll talk its pensive hours away.
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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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They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
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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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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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