Quote

Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.

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
Seem
Woe
Sleep
Repose
Lasts
Weep
Last
Endurance
Death
Grave
Seems
Strongest
Look
Graves
Looks
Thou
Foe

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Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world's tide is bearing me along Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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Terror made me cruel.
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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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It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
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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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He had been content with daily labour and rough animal enjoyments, 'till Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were his first prompts to higher pursuits and, instead of guarding him from one and winning him to the other, his endeavors to raise himself had produced just the contrary result.
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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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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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My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
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No coward soul is mine.
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If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable. Because you are not fit to go there, I answered. All sinners would be miserable in heaven.
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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 gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death and flung it back to me.
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Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
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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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Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper!
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I will walk where my own nature would be leading.
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Honest people don't hide their deeds.
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