To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when I find out they have neither souls nor hearts โ when they open to me a perspective of flatness, triviality, and perhaps imbecility, coarseness, and ill-temper: but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break โ at once supple and stable, tractable and consistent โ I am ever tender and true. (Mr Rochester to Jane)
Charlotte BronteGod waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness -- to glory?
Charlotte Bronte