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Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?

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
Much
Nonsense
Imagine
Thought

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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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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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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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I'll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty!
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
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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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Terror made me cruel.
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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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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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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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Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.
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Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
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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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You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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He... was attached by ties stronger than reason could break -- chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen.
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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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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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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