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In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away

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
Changeful
Slipped
Tears
Pleasure
Secret
Away
Life

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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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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
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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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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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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again - it is hers yet - he had hard work to stir me but he said it would change, if the air blew on it.
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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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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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He’s more myself than I am
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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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It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.
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Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
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Terror made me cruel.
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I cannot express it: but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you.
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No coward soul is mine.
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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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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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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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