Remorse is the poison of life.

“You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you;…”

“Come, Paul!" she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a steel …”

“Decidedly he has had too much wine,' I thought”

“St John Rivers: What will you do with all your fine accomplishments? Jane Eyre:…”