You may have as many words as you please, – only I can’t stay to hear them. - Anne Brontë

Since I love him so much, I can easily forgive him for loving himself.

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

All for myself the sigh would swell, The tear of anguish start; I little knew what wilder woe Had filled the Poet's heart. I did not know the nights of gloom, The days of misery; The long, long years of dark despair, That crushed and tortured thee.