I was actually permitting myself to experience a sickening sense of disappointment: but rallying my wits, and recollecting my principles, I at once called my sensations to order; and it was wonderful how I got over the temporary blunder-how I cleared up the mistake of supposing Mr. Rochester's movements a matter in which I had any cause to take vital interest.
I am neither a man nor a woman but an author.
Shake me off, then, sir--push me away; for I'll not leave you of my own accord.
I scorn your idea of love,' I could not help saying, as I rose up and stood before him, leaning my back against the rock. 'I scorn the counterfeit sentiment you offer: yes, St. John, and I scorn you when you offer it.
His mind was indeed my library, and whenever it was opened to me, I entered bliss.
My rest might have been blissful enough, only a sad heart broke it.
Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties.
I am anchored on a resolve you cannot shake. My heart, my conscience shall dispose of my hand - they only. Know this at last.
I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot of contamination must be an exquisite treasure-an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?
If he does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring, summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem!
But what is so headstrong as youth? What so blind as inexperience?
My God, whose son, as on this night, took on Him the form of man, and for man vouchsafed to suffer and bleed, controls thy hand, and without His behest, thou canst not strike a stroke. My God is sinless, eternal, all-wise, and in Him is my trust, and though stripped and crushed by thee, -though naked, desolate, void of resource- I do not despair:where the lance of Guthrum now wet with my blood, I should not despair. I watch, I toil, I hope, I pray: Jehovah, in His own time, will aid.
I believe that creature is a changeling: she is a perfect cabinet of oddities.
Beauty is in the eye of the gazer.
If we would build on a sure foundation in friendship we must love friends for their sake rather than for our own.
What delusion has come over me? What sweet madness has seized me?
There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms.
My love has placed her little hand With noble faith in mine, And vowed that wedlock's sacred band Our nature shall entwine. My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, With me to live -- to die; I have at last my nameless bliss: As I love -- loved am I!
Friendship however is a plant which cannot be forced -- true friendship is no gourd spring up in a night and withering in a day.
Good-night, my-" He stopped, bit his lip, and abruptly left me.