Mr. Rochester, I no more assign this fate to you than I grasp at it for myself. We were born to strive and endure - you as well as I: do so. You will forget me before I forget you.

I doubt if I have made the best use of all my calamities. Soft, amiable natures they would have refined to saintliness; of strong, evil spirits they would have made demons; as for me, I have only been a woe-struck and selfish woman.

You mocking changeling- fairy-born and human-bred!

I recalled the voice I had heard; again I questioned whence it came, as vainly as before: it seemed in me not in the external world. I asked, was it a mere nervous impression a delusion? I could not conceive or believe: it was more like an inspiration.

There's no use in weeping, Though we are condemned to part: There's such a thing as keeping, A remembrance in one's heart.

As to the thoughts, they are elfish. Those eyes in the Evening Star you must have seen in a dream.

I try to avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward.