Treasure Island

Emily Jane Brontë

(30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848 / Thornton / Yorkshire)

Quotations

  • ''I'll walk where my own nature would be leading:
    It vexes me to choose another guide:
    Where the grey flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
    Where the wild wind blows on the mountain-side.''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. Often rebuked, yet always back returning (l. 13-16). . . The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
    44 person liked.
    15 person did not like.
  • ''I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
    And not in paths of high morality,
    And not among the half-distinguished faces,
    The clouded forms of long-past history.''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. Ofte rebuked, yet always back returning (l. 9-12). . . The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
    While the world's tide is bearing me along;
    Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me,
    Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. Remembrance (l. 13-16). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''No other sun has lightened up my heaven,
    No other star has ever shone for me;
    All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,
    All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. Remembrance (l. 17-20). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
    Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
    Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
    How could I seek the empty world again?''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. Remembrance (l. 29-32). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''And when thy heart is laid to rest
    Beneath the church-yard stone
    I shall have time enough to mourn
    And thou to be alone."''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. The Night Wind (l. 33-36). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''I sat in silent musing—
    The soft wind waved my hair;
    It told me heaven was glorious
    And sleeping earth was fair.''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. The Night Wind (l. 5-8). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''And if I pray, the only prayer
    That moves my lips for me
    Is—'Leave the heart that now I bear,
    And give me liberty.'''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. The Old Stoic (l. 5-8). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''Yes, as my swift days near their goal,
    'Tis all that I implore—
    Through life and death, a chainless soul,
    With courage to endure!''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. The Old Stoic (l. 9-12). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) The Complete Poems of Emily Jane Brontë. C. W. Hatfield, ed. (1941) Columbia University Press.
  • ''"But, first a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;
    The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
    Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,
    That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.''
    Emily Brontë (1818-1848), British poet, novelist. The Prisoner (l. 13-16). . . Attributed to "Ellis Bell" (pseud.) Norton Anthology of Poetry, The. Alexander W. Allison and others, eds. (3d ed., 1983) W. W. Norton & Company.

Read more quotations »

Anticipation

How beautiful the earth is still,
To thee - how full of happiness!
How little fraught with real ill,
Or unreal phantoms of distress!
How spring can bring thee glory, yet,
And summer win thee to forget
December's sullen time!
Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,
Of youth's delight, when youth is past,

[Hata Bildir]