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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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
Every
Leafs
Leaf
Autumn
Speaks
Bliss
Tree
Fall
Equinox
Speak
Fluttering
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I will walk where my own nature would be leading.
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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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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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Heaven did not seem to be my home and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights where I woke sobbing for joy.
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They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
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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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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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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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Honest people don't hide their deeds.
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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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I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.
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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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By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
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In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away
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I see heaven's glories shine and faith shines equal.
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