He was, and is yet, most likely, the wearisomest, self-righteous pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself, and fling the curses on his neighbours.
Emily BrontëThe old church tower and garden wall
Are black with autumn rain
And dreary winds foreboding call
The darkness down again
It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him.
Emily BrontëMots clés heathcliff wuthering-heights
Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing and the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf.
Emily BrontëMots clés nature summer narration
The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads and revealed their faces, animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel, and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity.
Emily BrontëMots clés reading learning children relationships childhood adulthood maturity
I hasped the window; I combed his black long hair from his forehead; I tried to close his eyes-to extinguish, if possible, that frightful, life-like gaze of exultation, before any one else beheld it. They would not shut; they seemed to sneer at my attempts, and his parted lips and sharp, white teeth sneered too!
Emily BrontëIt's a rough journey, and a sad heart to travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton Kirk, to go that journey! We've braved its ghosts often together, and dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come. But Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I'll keep you. I'll not lie there by myself; they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won't rest till you are with me. I never will!"
She paused, and resumed with a strange smile, "He's considering-he'd rather I'd come to him! Find a way, then! not through that Kirkyard. You are slow! Be content, you always followed me!
May you not rest, as long as I am living. You said I killed you - haunt me, then.
Emily BrontëMots clés classics
I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.
Emily BrontëWhatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same
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