She sang, as requested. There was much about love in the ballad: faithful love that refused to abandon its object; love that disaster could not shake; love that, in calamity, waxed fonder, in poverty clung closer. The words were set to a fine old air -- in themselves they were simple and sweet: perhaps, when read, they wanted force; when well sung, they wanted nothing. Shirley sang them well: she breathed into the feeling, softness, she poured round the passion, force: her voice was fine that evening; its expression dramatic: she impressed all, and charmed one.
On leaving the instrument, she went to the fire, and sat down on a seat -- semi-stool, semi-cushion: the ladies were round her -- none of them spoke. The Misses Sympson and the Misses Nunnely looked upon her, as quiet poultry might look on an egret, an ibis, or any other strange fowl. What made her sing so? They never sang so. Was it proper to sing with such expression, with such originality -- so unlike a school girl? Decidedly not: it was strange, it was unusual. What was strange must be wrong; what was unusual must be improper. Shirley was judged.
Tags: talent love gender passion music women empathy morality society judgment jealousy singing expression prejudice understanding hypocrisy devotion feeling fidelity expectations gift faithfulness preconceptions musicality rejection social-norms propriety
Nor did I reflect that some herbs, "though scentless when entire, yield fragrance when they're bruised.
Charlotte BrontëAnd was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude, and many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object I best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than the brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I could not, for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. He was moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once, when sent for to read to him, found him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on his folded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowl blackened his features. But I believe that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former faults of morality (I say FORMER, for now he seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles, and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, education instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellent materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief, whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it.
Charlotte BrontëWe should acknowledge God merciful, but not always for us comprehensible.
Charlotte BrontëTags: religious-faith
Night was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night: too serene for the companionship of fear.
Charlotte BrontëSilence is of different kinds, and breathes different meanings.
Charlotte Brontëإنَّه لمن حُسن الطالع أنَّ الزمان يُخمد التوق إلى الإنتقام، ويُسكت حوافز الغيظ والنفور.
Charlotte Brontëتلك هي السبيل التي تنتهجها الأحداث في هذه الحياة. فما إن يستقر المقام بالمرء في موطنٍ من مواطن الإستراحة بهيج، حتَّى يدعوه صوتٌ ما إلى النهوض والإرتحال. لأن ساعة الراحة قد انقضت.
Charlotte BrontëNight was come, and her planets were risen: a safe, still night; too serene for the companionship of fear. We know that God is everywhere; but certainly we feel His presence most when His works are on the grandest scale spread before us: and it is in the unclouded night-sky, where His worlds wheel their silent course, that we read clearest His infinitude, His omnipotence, His omnipresence.
Charlotte BrontëBut I tell you--and mark my words--you will come some day to a craggy pass in the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer current...
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