How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall...
Twas grief enough to think mankind All hollow, servile, insincere; But worse to trust to my own mind And find the same corruption there
Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies.
Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.
I wish you had sincerity enough to tell me whether Catherine would suffer greatly from his loss: the fear that she would restrains me. And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he be...
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.
I hate him for himself, but despise him for the memories he revives.
He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to loved or hated again.
Love is like the wild-rose briar Friendship is like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose briar blooms But which will bloom most constantly?
People feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.
I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words?
And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against hi...
Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever; your veins are full of ice water; but mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance.
The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
I have no pity! I have no pity! The more worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! It is a moral teething, and I grind with greater energy, in proportion to the increase of pain.
I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind.
I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!