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Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

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
Hope
Doomed
Comes
Despair
Night
Wear
Stills
Offers
Messenger
Still
Short
Desolate
Every
Eternal
Messengers
Years
Liberty
Gloom
Life
Year
Tyrants

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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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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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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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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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I'll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty!
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Terror made me cruel.
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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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You're hard to please: so many friends and so few cares, and can't make yourself content.
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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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Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him?
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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.
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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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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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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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Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!' he said. 'It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down!
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Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
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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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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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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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