This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
He had been content with daily labor and rough animal enjoyments, 'till Catherine crossed his path. Shame at her scorn, and hope of her approval, were his first prompts to higher pursuits; and, instead of guarding him from one and winning him to the other, his endeavors to raise himself had produced just the contrary result.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
He was, and is yet, most likely, the wearisomest, self-righteous pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself, and fling the curses on his neighbors.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Nature and Books belong to the eyes that see them.
Emily Dickinson, fully Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
They might not need me; but they might. I'll let my head be just in sight; a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Oh! dreadful is the check - intense the agony - / When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; when the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; / The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same
Quiet |
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Instead of a wild, hatless little savage jumping into the house, and rushing to squeeze us all breathless, there lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person with brown ringlets falling from the cover of a feathered beaver, and a long cloth habit which she was obliged to hold up with both hands that she might sail in.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I remember the master, before he fell into a doze, stroking her bonny hair - it pleased him rarely to see her gentle - and saying - 'Why canst thou not always be a good lass, Cathy?' And she turned her face up to his, and laughed, and answered, 'Why cannot you always be a good man, father?
Poor human nature, what horrible crimes have been committed in thy name!
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
Yes,' said Catherine, stroking his long soft hair, 'if I could only get papa's consent, I'd spend half my time with you - Pretty Linton! I wish you were my brother.'
Crime is naught but misdirected energy. So long as every institution of today, economic, political, social, and moral, conspires to misdirect human energy into wrong channels; so long as most people are out of place doing the things they hate to do, living a life they loathe to live, crime will be inevitable, and all the laws on the statutes can only increase, but never do away with, crime.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
A little while, a little while, the weary task is put away, and I can sing and I can smile, alike, while I have holiday. Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart-- what thought, what scene invites thee now what spot, or near or far apart, has rest for thee, my weary brow? There is a spot, 'mid barren hills, where winter howls, and driving rain; but, if the dreary tempest chills, there is a light that warms again. The house is old, the trees are bare, moonless above bends twilight's dome; but what on earth is half so dear-- so longed for--as the hearth of home? The mute bird sitting on the stone, the dank moss dripping from the wall, the thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown, I love them--how I love them all! Still, as I mused, the naked room, the alien firelight died away; and from the midst of cheerless gloom, I passed to bright, unclouded day. A little and a lone green lane that opened on a common wide; a distant, dreamy, dim blue chain of mountains circling every side. A heaven so clear, an earth so calm, so sweet, so soft, so hushed an air; and, deepening still the dream-like charm, wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere. THAT was the scene, I knew it well; I knew the turfy pathway's sweep, that, winding o'er each billowy swell, marked out the tracks of wandering sheep. Could I have lingered but an hour, it well had paid a week of toil; but Truth has banished Fancy's power: restraint and heavy task recoil. Even as I stood with raptured eye, absorbed in bliss so deep and dear, my hour of rest had fleeted by, and back came labor, bondage, care.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
She seemed almost over fond of Mr. Linton; and even to his sister she showed plenty of affection. They were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly. It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
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.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
The world is for me a hideous collection of memorabilia telling me she lived and I have lost her.
Emily Brontë, fully Emily Jane Brontë, aka pseudonym Ellis Bell
I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be — that proves I love him better than myself.
Passion | Superstition |