Charlotte Brontë was an English novelist and poet, the eldest of the three Brontë sisters who survived into adulthood, whose novels are English literature standards. She wrote Jane Eyre under the pen name Currer Bell.
Early life and education
Charlotte was born in Thornton, Yorkshire in 1816, the third of six children, to Maria (née Branwell) and her husband Patrick Brontë (formerly surnamed Brunty or Prunty), an Irish Anglican clergyman. In 1820, the family moved a few miles to the village of Haworth, where Patrick had been appointed Perpetual Curate of St Michael and All Angels Church. Charlotte's mother died of cancer on 15 September 1821, leaving five daughters and... more »
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Charlotte Brontë Poems
LIFE, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain
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:
Long ago I wished to leave " The house where I was born; " Long ago I used to grieve, My home seemed so forlorn.
THE human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed; The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, Whose charms were broken if revealed. And days may pass in gay confusion,
SOME have won a wild delight, By daring wilder sorrow; Could I gain thy love to-night, I'd hazard death to-morrow.
On The Death Of Anne Brontë
THERE 's little joy in life for me, And little terror in the grave ; I 've lived the parting hour to see Of one I would have died to save.
A Short Poem or Else Not Say I True pleasure breathes not city air, Nor in Art's temples dwells,
ARRANGING long-locked drawers and shelves Of cabinets, shut up for years, What a strange task we've set ourselves ! How still the lonely room appears !
Speak of the North! A Lonely Moor
Speak of the North! A lonely moor Silent and dark and tractless swells, The waves of some wild streamlet pour Hurriedly through its ferny dells.
The Teacher's Monologue
THE room is quiet, thoughts alone People its mute tranquillity; The yoke put on, the long task done, I am, as it is bliss to be,
Pilate's Wife's Dream
I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall;
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams Of moonlight through the hall are shed.
IF thou be in a lonely place, If one hour's calm be thine, As Evening bends her placid face O'er this sweet day's decline;
THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call not back a word. Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,
Quotationsmore quotations »
You had no right to be born; for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person's stre...Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855), British novelist. Eliza Reed to her sister Georgiana, in Jane Eyre, ch. 21 (1847).
Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after- flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poiso...Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855), British novelist. Jane Eyre, ch. 4 (1847).
''Feeling without judgement is a washy draught indeed; but judgement untempered by feeling is too bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition.''Charlotte Brontë (1816-55), British novelist. Jane Eyre, ch. 21 (1847). "Deglutition" means the action of swallowing [OED]...
''Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilized by education; they grow there, firm as weeds among stones.''Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855), British novelist. Jane Eyre, ch. 29 (1847).
''It is vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it.''Charlotte Brontë (1816-1855), British novelist. Jane Eyre, ch. 12 (1847).
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
LIFE, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament its fall ?
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Enjoy them as they fly !
What though Death at times steps in
And calls our Best away ?
What though sorrow seems to win,
O'er hope, a heavy sway ?
Yet hope again elastic springs,
Unconquered, though she ...