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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
Asks
Comes
Must
Breed
Mind
Sorrows
People
Pardon
Sorrow
Afraid
Proud

More quotes by Emily Bronte

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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
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No coward soul is mine.
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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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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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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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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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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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I understand that most ladies tend to prefer lap dogs.... Perhaps I am an exception.
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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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By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
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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 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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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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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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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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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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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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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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