Charlotte Bronte Quotes

I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

But not all men seek rest and peace; some are born with the spirit of the storm in their blood.

All that peace, man, if felt so good it hurt. I want to hurt it back.

And the more I see Pleasures about me, so much more I feel Torment within me.

There is a Restlessness springing from the consciousness of power not fully utilized, which must be present wherever there is unused power of whatever kind. This is the restlessness of the germ within the seed, struggling upward and downward towards its proper life.it is a striving full of pain, the cutting of tender flesh by the fetters of the captive as he struggles against their pitilessness.

Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.

It is not humiliating to be unhappy. Physical suffering is sometimes humiliating, but the suffering of being cannot be, it is life.

Can calm despair and wild unrest Be tenants of a single breast, Or sorrow such a changeling be?

If I stayed here, something inside me would be lost forever—something I couldn't afford to lose. It was like a vague dream, a burning, unfulfilled desire. The kind of dream people have only when they're seventeen.

Marriage I think For women Is the best of opiates. It kills the thoughts That think about the thoughts, It is the best of opiates. So said Maria. But too long in solitude she'd dwelt, And too long her thoughts had felt Their strength. So when the man drew near, Out popped her thoughts and covered him with fear. Poor Maria! Better that she had kept her thoughts on a chain, For now she's alone again and all in pain; She sighs for the man that went and the thoughts that stay To trouble her dreams by night and her dreams by day.

A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.

I am a strange compound of weakness and resolution! However, if I must suffer, I will endeavour to suffer in silence. There is certainly a great defect in my mind my wayward heart creates its own misery Why I am made thus I cannot tell; and, till I can form some idea of the whole of my existence, I must be content to weep and dance like a child long for a toy, and be tired of it as soon as I get it.

What Hells and Purgatories and Heavens I have inside of me! But who sees me do anything that disagrees with life--me, so calm and peaceful?

My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.

Happiness is excitement that has found a settling down place, but there is always a little corner that keeps flapping around.

I was just struggling with my inner vachette and pondering the depths of my own inhumanity.

Be kind, be all sympathy, for each and every human being is forced to fight against himself.

I tried to groan, Help! Help! But the tone that came out was that of polite conversation.

It's never come easy for me. I don't think my mind allows me to rest ever. I have, I think, a chip on my shoulder, and some deep scars that I don't think were healed.

My feelings of disgust had been so loud within me, they’d nearly drowned out everything else.

Hold on...Hold on to yourself. This is going to hurt like hell.

The silence is perfect, and yet a torment.

If you saw her in these moments, you might think she was collecting her thoughts in order to go forward. But I see it another way: Her mind is being overwhelmed by two processes that must simultaneously proceed at full steam. One is to deal with and live in the present world. The other is to re-experience and mourn something that happened long ago. It is as though her lightness pulls her toward heaven, but the extra gravity around her keeps her earthbound.