Great Throughts Treasury

A database of quotes

Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell

English Novelist and Poet best known for her solitary novel, "Wuthering Heights"

"Yes, as my swift days near their goal, 'Tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure."

"A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. "

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. "

"I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind. "

"Honest people don't hide their deeds. "

"Vain are the thousand creeds that move men's hearts, unutterably vain, worthless as wither'd weeds."

"Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. "

"I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me even after, and changed my ideas; they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind."

"A Death Scene - O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining; He cannot leave thee now, While fresh west winds are blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing! Edward, awake, awake-- The golden evening gleams Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- Arouse thee from thy dreams! Beside thee, on my knee, My dearest friend, I pray That thou, to cross the eternal sea, Wouldst yet one hour delay: I hear its billows roar-- I see them foaming high; But no glimpse of a further shore Has blest my straining eye. Believe not what they urge Of Eden isles beyond; Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land. It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy breast-- Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; I cannot let thee rest!" One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear-- One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer: And, with sudden check, the heaving Of distraction passed away; Not a sign of further grieving Stirred my soul that awful day. Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees. Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weep. But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed; Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- Wandered not, nor yet reposed! So I knew that he was dying-- Stooped, and raised his languid head; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew that he was dead."

"Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men. She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars one dreary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away! Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still, in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round; Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again!"

"How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me, "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! These throbbing temples softly kiss; And bend my lonely couch above, And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. The world is going; dark world, adieu! Grim world, conceal thee till the day; The heart thou canst not all subdue Must still resist, if thou delay! Thy love I will not, will not share; Thy hatred only wakes a smile; Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! While gazing on the stars that glow Above me, in that stormless sea, I long to hope that all the woe Creation knows, is held in thee! And this shall be my dream to-night; I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres Is rolling on its course of light In endless bliss, through endless years; I'll think, there's not one world above, Far as these straining eyes can see, Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, Or Virtue crouched to Infamy; Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate, The mangled wretch was forced to smile; To match his patience 'gainst her hate, His heart rebellious all the while. Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, And helpless Reason warn in vain; And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; And Joy the surest path to Pain; And Peace, the lethargy of Grief; And Hope, a phantom of the soul; And life, a labour, void and brief; And Death, the despot of the whole!"

"My Comforter - Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught A feeling strange or new; Thou hast but roused a latent thought, A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought To gleam in open view. Deep down, concealed within my soul, That light lies hid from men; Yet glows unquenched--though shadows roll, Its gentle ray cannot control-- About the sullen den. Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways To walk alone so long? Around me, wretches uttering praise, Or howling o'er their hopeless days, And each with Frenzy's tongue;-- A brotherhood of misery, Their smiles as sad as sighs; Whose madness daily maddened me, Distorting into agony The bliss before my eyes! So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun, And in the glare of Hell; My spirit drank a mingled tone, Of seraph's song, and demon's moan; What my soul bore, my soul alone Within itself may tell! Like a soft, air above a sea, Tossed by the tempest's stir; A thaw-wind, melting quietly The snow-drift on some wintry lea; No: what sweet thing resembles thee, My thoughtful Comforter? And yet a little longer speak, Calm this resentful mood; And while the savage heart grows meek, For other token do not seek, But let the tear upon my cheek Evince my gratitude!"

"Riches I hold in light esteem, And Love I laugh to scorn; And lust of fame was but a dream That vanish'd with the morn: 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!' Yea, as my swift days near their goal, 'Tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, With courage to endure."

"The Prisoner - Still let my tyrants know, I am not doom'd to wear Year after year in gloom and desolate despair; A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty. He comes with Western winds, with evening's wandering airs, With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars: Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire. Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears: When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm. But first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends; The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends. Mute music soothes my breast--unutter'd harmony That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me. Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels; Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found, Measuring the gulf, it stoops, and dares the final bound. O dreadful is the check--intense the agony-- When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; When the pulse begins to throb--the brain to think again-- The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain. Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, If it but herald Death, the vision is divine."

"Self-Interrogation - "The evening passes fast away. 'Tis almost time to rest; What thoughts has left the vanished day, What feelings in thy breast? "The vanished day? It leaves a sense Of labour hardly done; Of little gained with vast expense-- A sense of grief alone? "Time stands before the door of Death, Upbraiding bitterly And Conscience, with exhaustless breath, Pours black reproach on me: "And though I've said that Conscience lies And Time should Fate condemn; Still, sad Repentance clouds my eyes, And makes me yield to them! "Then art thou glad to seek repose? Art glad to leave the sea, And anchor all thy weary woes In calm Eternity? "Nothing regrets to see thee go-- Not one voice sobs' farewell;' And where thy heart has suffered so, Canst thou desire to dwell?" "Alas! the countless links are strong That bind us to our clay; The loving spirit lingers long, And would not pass away! "And rest is sweet, when laurelled fame Will crown the soldier's crest; But a brave heart, with a tarnished name, Would rather fight than rest. "Well, thou hast fought for many a year, Hast fought thy whole life through, Hast humbled Falsehood, trampled Fear; What is there left to do? "'Tis true, this arm has hotly striven, Has dared what few would dare; Much have I done, and freely given, But little learnt to bear! "Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe. "The long war closing in defeat-- Defeat serenely borne,-- Thy midnight rest may still be sweet, And break in glorious morn!""

"Often rebuked, yet always back returning To those first feelings that were born with me, And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning For idle dreams of things which cannot be: To-day I will seek not the shadowy region; Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; And visions rising, legion after legion, Bring the unreal world too strangely near. I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, And not in paths of high morality, And not among the half-distinguish'd faces, The clouded forms of long-past history. I'll walk when my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide: Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding, Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side."

"Long neglect has worn away Half the sweet enchanting smile; Time has turned the bloom to gray; Mold and damp the face defile. But that lock of silky hair, Still beneath the picture twined, Tells what once those features were, Paints their image on the mind. Fair the hand that traced that line, “Dearest, ever deem me true”; Swiftly flew the fingers fine When the pen that motto drew. "

"A little while, a little while, The weary task is put away, And I can sing and I can smile, Alike, while I have holiday. Why wilt thou go, my harassed heart, What thought, what scene invites thee now? What spot, or near or far, Has rest for thee, my weary brow? There is a spot, mid barren hills, Where winter howls, and driving rain; But if the dreary tempest chills, There is a light that warms again. The house is old, the trees are bare, Moonless above bends twilight's dome; But what on earth is half so dear, So longed for, as the hearth of home? The mute bird sitting on the stone, The dank moss dripping from the wall, The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, I love them, how I love them all! Still, as I mused, the naked room, The alien firelight died away, And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day. A little and a lone green lane That opened on a common wide; A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain Of mountains circling every side; A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; And, deepening still the dream-like charm, Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. That was the scene, I knew it well; I knew the turfy pathway's sweep That, winding o'er each billowy swell, Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. Could I have lingered but an hour, It well had paid a week of toil; But Truth has banished Fancy's power: Restraint and heavy task recoil. Even as I stood with raptured eye, Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, My hour of rest had fleeted by, And back came labour, bondage, care. "

"Come hither, child--who gifted thee With power to touch that string so well? How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me, Thoughts that I would--but cannot quell? Nay, chide not, lady; long ago I heard those notes in Ula's hall, And had I known they'd waken woe I'd weep their music to recall. But thus it was: one festal night When I was hardly six years old I stole away from crowds and light And sought a chamber dark and cold. I had no one to love me there, I knew no comrade and no friend; And so I went to sorrow where Heaven, only heaven saw me bend. Loud blew the wind; 'twas sad to stay From all that splendour barred away. I imaged in the lonely room A thousand forms of fearful gloom. And with my wet eyes raised on high I prayed to God that I might die. Suddenly in that silence drear A sound of music reached my ear, And then a note, I hear it yet, So full of soul, so deeply sweet, I thought that Gabriel's self had come To take me to thy father's home. Three times it rose, that seraph strain, Then died, nor breathed again; But still the words and still the tone Dwell round my heart when all alone. "

"Death! that struck when I was most confiding In my certain faith of joy to be - Strike again, Time's withered branch dividing From the fresh root of Eternity! Leaves, upon Time's branch, were growing brightly, Full of sap, and full of silver dew; Birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly; Daily round its flowers the wild bees flew. Sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom; Guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride; But, within its parent's kindly bosom, Flowed for ever Life's restoring-tide. Little mourned I for the parted gladness, For the vacant nest and silent song - Hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness; Whispering, ' Winter will not linger long!' And, behold! with tenfold increase blessing, Spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray; Wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing, Lavished glory on that second May! High it rose - no winged grief could sweep it; Sin was scared to distance with its shine; Love, and its own life, had power to keep it From all wrong - from every blight but thine! Cruel Death! The young leaves droop and languish; Evening's gentle air may still restore - No! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish - Time, for me, must never blossom more! Strike it down, that other boughs may flourish Where that perished sapling used to be; Thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish That from which it sprung - Eternity. "

"Anticipation - How beautiful the earth is still, To thee - how full of happiness! How little fraught with real ill, Or unreal phantoms of distress! How spring can bring thee glory, yet, And summer win thee to forget December's sullen time! Why dost thou hold the treasure fast, Of youth's delight, when youth is past, And thou art near thy prime? When those who were thy own compeers, Equals in fortune and in years, Have seen their morning melt in tears, To clouded, smileless day; Blest, had they died untried and young, Before their hearts went wandering wrong, Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, A weak and helpless prey! " Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, And, by fulfilment, hope destroyed; As children hope, with trustful breast, I waited bliss - and cherished rest. A thoughtful spirit taught me, soon, That we must long till life be done; That every phase of earthly joy Must always fade, and always cloy: This I foresaw - and would not chase The fleeting treacheries; But, with firm foot and tranquil face, Held backward from that tempting race, Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface, To the enduring seas - ; There cast my anchor of desire Deep in unknown eternity; Nor ever let my spirit tire, With looking for what is to be! It is hope's spell that glorifies, Like youth, to my maturer eyes, All Nature's million mysteries, The fearful and the fair - Hope soothes me in the griefs I know; She lulls my pain for others' woe, And makes me strong to undergo What I am born to bear. Glad comforter! will I not brave, Unawed, the darkness of the grave? Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave - Sustained, my guide, by thee? The more unjust seems present fate, The more my spirit swells elate, Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate Rewarding destiny!" "

"Far, far away is mirth withdrawn 'Tis three long hours before the morn And I watch lonely, drearily - So come thou shade commune with me Deserted one ! thy corpse lies cold And mingled with a foreign mould - Year after year the grass grows green Above the dust where thou hast been. I will not name thy blighted name Tarnished by unforgotton shame Though not because my bosom torn Joins the mad world in all its scorn - Thy phantom face is dark with woe Tears have left ghastly traces there, Those ceaseless tears ! I wish their flow Could quench thy wild despair. They deluge my heart like the rain On cursed Gomorrah's howling plain - Yet when I hear thy foes deride I must cling closely to thy side - Our mutual foes - they will not rest From trampling on thy buried breast - Glutting there hatred with the doom They picture thine, beyond the tomb - But God is not like human kind Man cannot read the Almighty mind Vengeance will never tortue they Nor hunt thy soul eternally Then do not in this night of grief This time of over whelming fear O do not think that God can leave Forget, forsake, refuse to hear ! - What have I dreamt ? He lies asleep With whom my heart would vainly weep He rests - and I endure the woe That left his spirit long ago - "

"The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mateless play; And, while the night is gathering grey, We'll talk its pensive hours away;-- 'Ierne, round our sheltered hall November's gusts unheeded call; Not one faint breath can enter here Enough to wave my daughter's hair, And I am glad to watch the blaze Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; To feel her cheek so softly pressed, In happy quiet on my breast. 'But, yet, even this tranquillity Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; I dream of moor, and misty hill, Where evening closes dark and chill; For, lone, among the mountains cold, Lie those that I have loved of old. And my heart aches, in hopeless pain Exhausted with repinings vain, That I shall greet them ne'er again!' 'Father, in early infancy, When you were far beyond the sea, Such thoughts were tyrants over me! I often sat, for hours together, Through the long nights of angry weather, Raised on my pillow, to descry The dim moon struggling in the sky; Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; So would I fearful vigil keep, And, all for listening, never sleep. But this world's life has much to dread, Not so, my Father, with the dead. 'Oh! not for them, should we despair, The grave is drear, but they are not there; Their dust is mingled with the sod, Their happy souls are gone to God! You told me this, and yet you sigh, And murmur that your friends must die. Ah! my dear father, tell me why? For, if your former words were true, How useless would such sorrow be; As wise, to mourn the seed which grew Unnoticed on its parent tree, Because it fell in fertile earth, And sprang up to a glorious birth-- Struck deep its root, and lifted high Its green boughs, in the breezy sky. 'But, I'll not fear, I will not weep For those whose bodies rest in sleep,-- I know there is a blessed shore, Opening its ports for me, and mine; And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, I weary for that land divine, Where we were born, where you and I Shall meet our Dearest, when we die; From suffering and corruption free, Restored into the Deity.' 'Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! And wiser than thy sire; And worldly tempests, raging wild, Shall strengthen thy desire-- Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, Through wind and ocean's roar, To reach, at last, the eternal home, The steadfast, changeless, shore!' "

"Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men. She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars, one dreary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away! Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still, in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground, Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round; Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again! "

"Often rebuked, yet always back returning To those first feelings that were born with me, And leaving busy chase of wealth and learning For idle dreams of things which cannot be: To-day, I will seek not the shadowy region; Its unsustaining vastness waxes drear; And visions rising, legion after legion, Bring the unreal world too strangely near. I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces, And not in paths of high morality, And not among the half-distinguished faces, The clouded forms of long-past history. I'll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide: Where the gray flocks in ferny glens are feeding; Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? More glory and more grief than I can tell: The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell."

"Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity, And never care how rain may steep, Or snow may cover me! No promised heaven these wild desires Could all, or half, fulful; No threatened hell, with quenchless fires, Subdue this quenchless will! So said I, and still say the same; Still, to my death, will say— Three gods within this little frame Are warring night and day: Heaven could not hold them all, and yet They all are held in me; And must be mine till I forget My present entity! Oh, for the time when in my breast Their struggles will be o'er! Oh, for the day when I shall rest, And never suffer more! "

"Sweet Love of youth, forgive if I forget thee While the World's tide is bearing me along: Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure but cannot do thee wrong. No other Sun has lightened up my heaven; No other Star has ever shone for me: All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee."

"Riches I hold in light esteem And Love I laugh to scorn And lust of Fame was but a dream That vanished with the morn– 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.' Yes, as my swift days near their goal 'Tis all that I implore Through life and death, a chainless soul With courage to endure!"

"She dried her tears and they did smile To see her cheeks' returning glow How little dreaming all the while That full heart throbbed to overflow With that sweet look and lively tone And bright eye shining all the day They could not guess at midnight lone How she would weep the time away. "

"Come, the wind may never again Blow as now it blows for us; And the stars may never again shine as now they shine; Long before October returns, Seas of blood will have parted us; And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine! "

"How beautiful the Earth is still To thee–how full of Happiness; How little fraught with real ill Or shadowy phantoms of distress; How Spring can bring thee glory yet And Summer win thee to forget December's sullen time! Why dost thou hold the treasure fast Of youth's delight, when youth is past And thou art near thy prime? When those who were thy own compeers, Equal in fortunes and in years, Have seen their morning melt in tears, To dull unlovely day; Blest, had they died unproved and young Before their hearts were wildly wrung, Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong, A weak and helpless prey! 'Because, I hoped while they enjoyed, And by fulfilment, hope destroyed As children hope, with trustful breast, I waited Bliss and cherished Rest. 'A thoughtful Spirit taught me soon That we must long till life be done; That every phase of earthly joy Will always fade and always cloy-- 'This I foresaw, and would not chase The fleeting treacheries, But with firm foot and tranquil face Held backward from the tempting race, Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface To the enduring seas– 'There cast my anchor of Desire Deep in unknown Eternity; Nor ever let my Spirit tire With looking for What is to be. 'It is Hope's spell that glorifies Like youth to my maturer eyes All Nature's million mysteries-- The fearful and the fair– 'Hope soothes me in the griefs I know, She lulls my pain for others' woe And makes me strong to undergo What I am born to bear. 'Glad comforter, will I not brave Unawed the darkness of the grave? Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave, My Guide, sustained by thee? The more unjust seems present fate The more my Spirit springs elate Strong in thy strength, to anticipate Rewarding Destiny!"

"I see around me tombstones grey Stretching their shadows far away. Beneath the turf my footsteps tread Lie low and lone the silent dead - Beneath the turf - beneath the mould - Forever dark, forever cold - And my eyes cannot hold the tears That memory hoards from vanished years For Time and Death and Mortal pain Give wounds that will not heal again - Let me remember half the woe I've seen and heard and felt below, And Heaven itself - so pure and blest, Could never give my spirit rest - Sweet land of light! thy children fair Know nought akin to our despair - Nor have they felt, nor can they tell What tenants haunt each mortal cell, What gloomy guests we hold within - Torments and madness, tears and sin! Well - may they live in ectasy Their long eternity of joy; At least we would not bring them down With us to weep, with us to groan, No - Earth would wish no other sphere To taste her cup of sufferings drear; She turns from Heaven with a careless eye And only mourns that we must die! Ah mother, what shall comfort thee In all this boundless misery? To cheer our eager eyes a while We see thee smile; how fondly smile! But who reads not through that tender glow Thy deep, unutterable woe: Indeed no dazzling land above Can cheat thee of thy children's love. We all, in life's departing shine, Our last dear longings blend with thine; And struggle still and strive to trace With clouded gaze, thy darling face. We would not leave our native home For any world beyond the Tomb. No - rather on thy kindly breast Let us be laid in lasting rest; Or waken but to share with thee A mutual immortality - "

"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 In secret pleasure - secret tears This changeful life has slipped away As friendless after eighteen years As lone as on my natal day There have been times I cannot hide There have been times when this was drear When my sad soul forgot its pride And longed for one to love me here But those were in the early glow Of feelings since subdued by care And they have died so long ago I hardly now believe they were First melted off the hope of youth Then Fancy's rainbow fast withdrew And then experience told me truth In mortal bosoms never grew 'Twas grief enough to think mankind All hollow servile insincere - But worse to trust to my own mind And find the same corruption there "

"No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven's glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. O God within my breast, Almighty, ever-present Deity! Life--that in me has rest, As I--undying Life--have power in Thee! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; Worthless as wither'd weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by Thine infinity; So surely anchor'd on The steadfast rock of immortality. With wide-embracing love Thy Spirit animates eternal years, Pervades and broods above, Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes cease to be, And Thou were left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee. There is not room for Death, Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou--Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed. "

"The Elder's Rebuke - 'Listen! When your hair, like mine, Takes a tint of silver gray; When your eyes, with dimmer shine, Watch life's bubbles float away: When you, young man, have borne like me The weary weight of sixty-three, Then shall penance sore be paid For those hours so wildly squandered; And the words that now fall dead On your ear, be deeply pondered— Pondered and approved at last: But their virtue will be past! 'Glorious is the prize of Duty, Though she be 'a serious power'; Treacherous all the lures of Beauty, Thorny bud and poisonous flower! 'Mirth is but a mad beguiling Of the golden-gifted time; Love—a demon-meteor, wiling Heedless feet to gulfs of crime. 'Those who follow earthly pleasure, Heavenly knowledge will not lead; Wisdom hides from them her treasure, Virtue bids them evil-speed! 'Vainly may their hearts repenting. Seek for aid in future years; Wisdom, scorned, knows no relenting; Virtue is not won by fears.' Thus spake the ice-blooded elder gray; The young man scoffed as he turned away, Turned to the call of a sweet lute's measure, Waked by the lightsome touch of pleasure: Had he ne'er met a gentler teacher, Woe had been wrought by that pitiless preacher. "

"A little while, a little while, the weary task is put away, and I can sing and I can smile, alike, while I have holiday. Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart-- what thought, what scene invites thee now what spot, or near or far apart, has rest for thee, my weary brow? There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, where winter howls, and driving rain; but, if the dreary tempest chills, there is a light that warms again. The house is old, the trees are bare, moonless above bends twilight's dome; but what on earth is half so dear-- so longed for--as the hearth of home? The mute bird sitting on the stone, the dank moss dripping from the wall, the thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, I love them--how I love them all! Still, as I mused, the naked room, the alien firelight died away; and from the midst of cheerless gloom, I passed to bright, unclouded day. A little and a lone green lane that opened on a common wide; a distant, dreamy, dim blue chain of mountains circling every side. A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, so sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; and, deepening still the dream-like charm, wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. THAT was the scene, I knew it well; I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, that, winding o'er each billowy swell, marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. Could I have lingered but an hour, it well had paid a week of toil; but Truth has banished Fancy's power: restraint and heavy task recoil. Even as I stood with raptured eye, absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, my hour of rest had fleeted by, and back came labor, bondage, care."

"A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, so sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; and, deepening still the dreamlike charm, wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere."

"A frantic love, obsession, infection of the soul from which nowhere you can hide from which you can never escape. Love more than fear, more alive than life. No words candles compliments. No bodies. Neither flowers and smiles. There is no you and me, you and me. Love in which I am you. - Wuthering Heights"

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

"A person who has not done one half his day's work by ten o' clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone."

"A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself."

"A wild, wick slip she was - but, she had the bonniest eye and sweetest smile, and lightest foot in the parish: and, after all, I believe she meant no harm; for when once she made you cry in good earnest, it seldom happened that she would not keep you company, and oblige you to be quiet that you might comfort her."

"All seems smooth and easy: where is the obstacle?' 'Here! and here!' replied Catherine, striking one hand on her forehead, and the other on her breast, 'in whichever place the soul lives."

"A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor."

"Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?' she said, with angry animation. 'You are one of those things that are ever found when least wanted, and when you are wanted, never! I suppose we shall have plenty of lamentations now - I see we shall - but they can't keep me from my narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where I'm bound before spring is over! There it is: not among the Lintons, mind, under the chapel-roof, but in the open air, with a head-stone; and you may please yourself whether you go to them or come to me!"

"Afraid? No! he replied. I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. Why should I? With my hard constitution and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably shall, remain above ground till there is scarcely a black hair on my head. And yet I cannot continue in this condition! I have to remind myself to breathe - almost to remind my heart to beat! And it is like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one universal idea. I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I'm convinced it will be reached - and soon - because it has devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its fulfillment. My confessions have not reviewed me; but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humor which I show. Oh God! It is a long fight; I wish it were over!"

"And I pray one prayer - I repeat it till my tongue stiffens... Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad!"

"Although he loved her with all the strength of his miserable being, not love as much in eighty years as I do in a day"

"And cried for mamma, at every turn'-I added, 'and trembled if a country lad heaved his fist against you, and sat at home all day for a shower of rain.-Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and I'll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes, and those thick brows, that instead of rising arched, sink in the middle, and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies? Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes-Don't get the expression of a vicious cur that appears to know the kicks it gets are its desert, and yet, hates all the world, as well as the kicker, for what it suffers.' 'In other words, I must wish for Edgar Linton's great blue eyes, and even forehead,' he replied. 'I do - and that won't help me to them.' 'A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,' I continued, 'if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking - tell me whether you don't think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows, but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week's income, Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors, and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!"

"And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day."