Emily Brontë

The world is not the same everywhere; I fear it is not so good as you think.

Imagination is the greatest gift that God has given to man.

Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life, and it ought not to be.

I have to live, perhaps, till seventy years. As far as I know, I have no reason to expect any particular happiness in life.

The moors are always the same, but I am not.

Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.

May she wake in torment! She denied me the pleasure of sharing her last moments.

Time will mellow it down to a comfortable feeling.

I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure with the grocers, drapers, and haberdashers.

The parsonage is a dull place, but I like it.

I am at a loss to conceive what will become of me.

Happiness is not a potato.

The imagination is a strong plant, and needs no bud to make it grow.

In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed.

Soul's delight, I cannot speak the joy I feel.

Let the dismal shroud of death envelop me, but spare my soul from further torment.

Writing is my only consolation when I am unhappy.

The storm is coming, but I am ready.