Quotes About Emily Brontë

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 to his neighbours.

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers, From those brown hills, have melted into spring.

You fight against that devil, for love, as long as you may; when the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!

perfect misanthropist's heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us.  A capital fellow!

Thy mind is ever moving In regions dark to thee; Recall its useless roving— Come back and dwell with me.

His weakness was the only time when I could taste the delight of paying wrong for wrong.

Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones. Before

I'd rayther he'd goan hisseln for t' doctor! I sud ha, taen tent o' t' maister better nor him—and he warn't deead when I left, naught o' t' soart!

I'd soon put that little canary into the park on a winter's day as recommend you to bestow your heart on him!

En lugar de reconocer la sofisticación intelectual de Emily, Charlotte la presentaba como una sencilla chica de campo, nada «culta», que había acabado escribiendo un libro desconcertante, más por ingenua que por versada.

I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: — and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.

God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!' he exclaimed. 'Haven't they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly?...

So hopeless is the world without; The world within I doubly prize; Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, And cold suspicion never rise; Where thou, and I, and Liberty, Have undisputed sovereignty.

I am the only being whose doom No tongue would ask, no eye would mourn; I never caused a thought of gloom, A smile of joy, since I was born.

And if I pray, the only prayer That moves my lips for me Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear, And give me liberty!

He would have recoiled still more had he been aware that her attachment rose unsolicited, and was bestowed where it awakened no reciprocation of sentiment; for the minute he discovered its existence, he laid the blame on Heathcliff's deliberate designing.

It is as if Emily Brontë could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognizable transparencies with such a gust of life that they transcend reality.

Quite alone both as a novel and as a piece of terror-literature stands the famous Wuthering Heights (1847) by Emily Brontë

Some people are very unfulfilled. In consequence they write passionately good romance because they believe that they could still find happiness. Emily Bronte was not a fulfilled woman but the passion she felt went into Wuthering Heights.