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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.
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
Book
Wind
Darling
Come
Books
Mates
Play
Child
Gathering
Children
Talk
Grey
Hours
Loud
Less
Wild
Pensive
Away
Winter
Forsake
Night
Close
Mate
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I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
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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 have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties, for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles.
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Last night, I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me!
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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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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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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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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?
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Joseph is the wearisomest and self-righteous Pharisee who ever ransacked the Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses on his neighbor.
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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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He shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
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Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
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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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He’s more myself than I am
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You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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