Strange that grief should now almost choke me, because another human being's eye has failed to greet mine.
Charlotte BrontëHe fumed like a bottled storm.
Charlotte BrontëI will bestir myself,' was her resolution, 'and try to be wise if I cannot be good.
Charlotte BrontëTags: wisdom intelligence goodness resolution
Do you think me, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless?
Charlotte BrontëTags: inspirational courageous social-class
By both nature and principle, he was superior to the mean gratification of vengeance: he had forgiven me for saying I scorned him and his love, but he had not forgotten the words; and as long as he and I lived he never would forget them. I saw by his look, when he turned to me, that they were always written on the air between me and him; whenever I spoke, they sounded in my voice to his ear, and their echo toned every answer he gave me.
Charlotte BrontëOh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! It was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when I tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in.
Charlotte BrontëYou both think I know not what,' said I. 'Have the goodness to make me as little the subject of your mutual talk and thoughts as possible. I have my own sort of life apart from yours.
Charlotte BrontëCall anguish--anguish, and despair--despair; write both down in strong characters with a resolute pen: you will the better pay your debt to Doom.
Charlotte BrontëTags: truth
I returned to my book—Bewick’s History of British Birds: the letterpress thereof I cared little for, generally speaking; and yet there were certain introductory pages that, child as I was, I could not pass quite as a blank. They were those which treat of the haunts of sea-fowl; of “the solitary rocks and promontories” by them only inhabited; of the coast of Norway, studded with isles from its southern extremity, the Lindeness, or Naze, to the North Cape—
Charlotte BrontëTill morning dawned I was tossed on a buoyant but unquiet sea, where billows of trouble rolled under surges of joy.
Charlotte Brontë« first previous
Page 71 of 85.
next last »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.