"Would you not be happier if you tried to forget her severity, together with the passionate emotions it excited? Life appears to me too short to be s… - Charlotte Brontë

Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.

To talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking.

If there are words and wrongs like knives, whose deep inflicted lacerations never heal - cutting injuries and insults of serrated and poison-dripping edge - so, too, there are consolations of tone too fine for the ear not fondly and for ever to retain their echo: caressing kindnesses - loved, lingered over through a whole life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answering the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven cloud foreshadowing Death himself.

When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked into my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavored to bring back with a strict hand such as had been straying through imagination's boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of common sense.