Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living.
Terror made me cruel.
Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?
Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous.
He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction, a look of hatred unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul.
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.
You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
May you not rest, as long as I am living. You said I killed you – haunt me, then.
It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him.
The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.
And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
I take so little interest in my daily life, that I hardly remember to eat and drink.
He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!
Are you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so intently that puss’s neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?
The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. But if you be afraid of your touchiness, you must ask pardon, mind, when she comes in.
The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go.
He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same.
I never told my love vocally still.
I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!