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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.

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
Must
Breed
Mind
Sorrows
People
Pardon
Sorrow
Afraid
Proud
Asks
Comes

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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 have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties, for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles.
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A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly.
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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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How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
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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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The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.
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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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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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I understand that most ladies tend to prefer lap dogs.... Perhaps I am an exception.
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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will changeit,I'mwellaware, aswinterchangesthetrees. My Love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneatha source of little visible delight but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff.
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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air And, deepening still the dreamlike charm, Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.
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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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We must be for ourselves in the long run the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering.
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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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In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away
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