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

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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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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere.
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
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I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.
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You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm's length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I'll rest.
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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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He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction, a look of hatred unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.
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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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I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow.
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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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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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You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
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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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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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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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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 old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again
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How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
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I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat!
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