Charlotte Brontë Quotes
Beauty is given to dolls, majesty to haughty vixens, but mind, feeling, passion and the crowning grace of fortitude are the attributes of an angel.
The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter - often an unconscious but still a faithful interpreter - in the eye.
How all my brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection! Yet in what darkness, what dense ignorance, was the mental battle fought!
We can burst the bonds which chain us, Which cold human hands have wrought, And where none shall dare restrain usWe can meet again, in thought.
Human life and human labour were near. I must struggle on: strive to live and bend to toil like the rest.
One suffers in silence so long as one has the strength and when that strength fails one speaks without measuring one's words much.
Where the bodily presence is weak and the speech contemptible, surely there cannot be error in making written language the medium of better utterance than faltering lips can achieve?
Jane, I never meant to wound you thus...Will you ever forgive me?"Reader, I forgave him at the moment and on the spot.
Love me, then, or hate me, as you will, " I said at last, "you have my full and free forgiveness: ask now for God's, and be at peace.
. . . if there was a hope of comfort for any moment, the heart or head of no human being in this house could yield it . . .
You have not wept at all! I see a white cheek and a faded eye, but no trace of tears. I suppose then, your heart has been weeping blood?
Having a large world of his own in his own head and heart, he tolerated confinement to a small, still corner of the real world very patiently.
Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure-an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment:is it not?
I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.
Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits: that world is around us, for it is everywhere.
A man is master of himself to a certain point, but not beyond it. -William Crimsworth
To toil, to think, to long, to grieve, —Is such my future fate?The morn was dreary, must the eveBe also desolate?
This little man was of the order of beings who must not be opposed, unless you possessed an all-dominant force sufficient to crush him at once.
If I let a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me aside from the easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be for the future I propose myself?
I had wanted to compromise with Fate: to escape occasional great agonies by submitting to a whole life of privation and small pains.
It is true I little respect women or girls who are loquacious either in boasting the triumphs, or bemoaning the mortifications, of feelings.
My feelings towards it can only be paralleled by that of a doting parent towards an idiot child.
. . . they would neither hate nor envy us if they did not deem us so much happier than themselves.
But when one does not complain, and when one wants to master oneself with a tyrant’s grip — one’s faculties rise in revolt — and one pays for outward calm with an almost unbearable inner struggle.
Human feelings are queer things -- I am much happier -- black-leading the stove's -- making the beds and sweeping the floors at home, than I should be living like a fine lady anywhere else.
...would not exchange this one little English girl for the Grand Turk’s whole seraglio, gazelle-eyes, houri forms, and all!
He did not yet known how many commenced lefe-romances are doomed never to get beyond the first, or at most the second chapter.
She bit me. She worried me like a tigress, when Rochester got the knife from her...She sucked the blood: she said she'd drain my heart." Richard mason
Existence was never originally meant to be that useless, blank, pale, slow-trailing thing it often becomes to many, and is becoming to me among the rest.
The world, I soon learned, held a different estimate: and I make no doubt, the world is very right in its view, yet believe also that I am not quite wrong in mine.
Night was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the companionship of fear.
Unfeeling thing that I was, the sensibilities of the maternal heart were Greek and Hebrew to me.
In catalepsy and a dead trance, I studiously held the quick of my nature.
The spring which moved my energies lay far away beyond seas, in an Indian isle.
I had not, it seems, the originality to chalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode the old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch from the beaten centre.
Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word book acted as a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver’s Travels from the library. This book I had again and again perused with delight.
I will bestir myself, ' was her resolution, 'and try to be wise if I cannot be good.
You would say you don't see it: at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-by, what you express with that organ, I am quick at interpreting its language).
Childish and slender creature! It seemed as if a linnet had hopped to my foot and proposed to bear me on its tiny wing.
This pure little drop from a pure little source was too sweet: it penetrated deep, and subdued the heart
