He shall never know I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his … - Emily Brontë

I am the only being whose doom No tongue would ask no eye would mourn I never caused a thought of gloom A smile of joy since I was born In secret pleasure — secret tears This changeful life has slipped away As friendless after eighteen years As lone as on my natal day

Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!

Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?