Human beings must love something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of sensation. I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it to be happy likewise.
Charlotte BronteTo the dear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break... I am ever tender and true.
Charlotte BronteEvery atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.
Charlotte BronteThis is a terrible hour, but it is often that darkest point which precedes the rise of day; that turn of the year when the icy January wind carries over the waste at once the dirge of departing winter, and the prophecy of coming spring.
Charlotte Bronte