Emily Brontë Quotes

English novelist and poet (1818–1848)

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Emily Jane Brontë (30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who was the sister of Charlotte and Anne Brontë, known as the Brontë sisters. Her only novel, Wuthering Heights, was first published under the pseudonym Ellis Bell.

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Pen Names: Ellis Bell

Alternative Names: Emily Jane Bronte • Emily Jane Brontë • Emily Bronte • Emily (Jane) Brontë

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Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free... and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed?

How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.

Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?

Existence, after losing her, would be hell

I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing.

She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too brightly for this world.

He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be, and if all else remained, and we were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. He’s always, always in my mind; not as a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.

By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.

You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.

Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she valued Edgar Linton's attachment more than mine — If he love with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years, as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have; the sea could be as readily contained in that horse-trough, as her whole affection be monopolized by him — Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse — It is not in him to be loved like me, how can she love in him what he has not?

What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?

Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous

They forgot everything the minute they were together again.

He's always, always in my mind — not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself — but as my own being.

Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips.