Anne Brontë Quotes

British novelist and poet (1820-1849)

Anne Brontë (17 January 1820 – 28 May 1849) was a British novelist and poet, the youngest sibling of Charlotte and Emily Brontë, who published her works under the pseudonyms Acton Bell. The three women collectively became known as the Brontë sisters.

From: Wikiquote (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Pen Names: Acton Bell

Alternative Names: Ann Brontë • Anne Bronte • Ann Bronte • Annie Bronte

From Wikidata (CC0)

Adoration isn’t love. I adore Annabella, but I don’t love her; and I love thee, Milicent, but I don’t adore thee.

How odd it is that we so often weep for each other’s distresses, when we shed not a tear for our own!

Life and hope must cease together.

What the world stigmatizes as romantic, is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed; for, if the generous ideas of youth are too often over-clouded by the sordid views of after-life, that scarcely proves them to be false.

I know not whether, at the time, it was not for him rather than myself that I blushed; for, since he and I are one, I so identify myself with him, that I feel his degradation, his failings, and transgressions as my own; I blush for him, I fear for him; I repent for him, weep, pray, and feel for him as for myself; but I cannot act for him; and hence, I must be and I am, debased, contaminated by the union, both in my own eyes, and in the actual truth.

A burst of passion is a fine rousing thing upon occasion, Helen, and a flood of tears is marvellously affecting, but, when indulged too often, they are both deuced plaguy things for spoiling one's beauty and tiring out one's friends.

Friends as we are, we would willingly keep your failings to ourselves — even from ourselves if we could, unless by knowing them we could deliver you from them.

You're at that game of threatening me with the loss of your affection again, are you? I think it couldn't have been very genuine stuff to begin with, if it's so easily demolished.

Instead of combating my slight prejudice against you as uncharitable, I mean to cherish it, until I am convinced that I have no reason to distrust this kind, insinuating friendship you are so anxious to push upon me.

Intimate acquaintance must precede real friendship.

Whatever my husband's faults may be, it can only aggravate the evil for me to hear them from a stranger's lips.

Those, whose time is fully occupied, seldom complain of solitude.

His idea of a wife is a thing to love one devotedly, and to stay at home — to wait upon her husband, and amuse him and minister to his comfort in every possible way, while he chooses to stay with her; and, when he is absent, to attend to his interests, domestic or otherwise, and patiently wait his return; no matter how he may be occupied in the meantime.

I can't love it — what is there to love? It can't love me — or you either; it can't understand a single word you say to it, or feel one spark of gratitude for all your kindness. Wait till it can show some little affection for me, and then I'll see about loving it. At present it is nothing more than a little selfish, senseless sensualist, and if you see anything adorable in it, it's all very well — I only wonder how you can.

Where hope rises fear must lurk behind.