Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.
Emily BronteHush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips.
Emily BronteI cannot express it: but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you.
Emily Bronte