Jane Eyre

by Charlotte Brontë

every nerve I had feared him, and every morsel of flesh in my bones shrank when he came near.

I mused on the disgusting and ugly appearance of him who would presently deal it.

I resisted all the way: a new thing for me, and a circumstance which greatly strengthened the bad opinion Bessie and Miss Abbot were disposed to entertain of me.

Superstition was with me at that moment; but it was not yet her hour for complete victory:

What a consternation of soul was mine that dreary afternoon! How all my brain was in tumult, and all my heart in insurrection!

My heart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffocated: endurance broke down;

I suppose I had a species of fit: unconsciousness closed the scene.

I daren’t for my life be alone with that poor child to-night: she might die; it’s such a strange thing she should have that fit:

“Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished”—“A great black dog behind him”—“Three loud raps on the chamber door”—“A light in the churchyard just over his grave,” etc., etc.

I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did:

while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my bad propensities.

“Come, Miss Jane, don’t cry,” said Bessie as she finished. She might as well have said to the fire, “don’t burn!”

and it was cruel to shut me up alone without a candle,—so cruel that I think I shall never forget it.”

I was not heroic enough to purchase liberty at the price of caste.

From every enjoyment I was, of course, excluded:

Well might I dread, well might I dislike Mrs. Reed; for it was her nature to wound me cruelly;

Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine.

saying, “She hoped I should be a good child,” dismissed me

Let the reader add, to complete the picture,

I stood lonely enough: but to that feeling of isolation I was accustomed; it did not oppress me much.

She looks as if she were thinking of something beyond her punishment—beyond her situation: of something not round her nor before her. I have heard of day-dreams—is she in a day-dream now?

that wind would then have saddened my heart; this obscure chaos would have disturbed my peace!

it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear.”

“That is curious,” said I, “it is so easy to be careful.” “For you I have no doubt it is.

If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way:

he would perhaps have felt that, whatever he might do with the outside of the cup and platter, the inside was further beyond his interference than he imagined.

“Never,” I thought; and ardently I wished to die.

“If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.”

if others don’t love me I would rather die than live—I cannot bear to be solitary and hated, Helen.

you think too much of the love of human beings;

has provided you with other resources than your feeble self, or than creatures feeble as you.

Exhausted by emotion, my language was more subdued than it generally was when it developed that sad theme;

She kissed me, and still keeping me at her side (where I was well contented to stand, for I derived a child’s pleasure from the contemplation of her face, her dress, her one or two ornaments, her white forehead, her clustered and shining curls, and beaming dark eyes),

but as to Helen Burns, I was struck with wonder.

Then her soul sat on her lips, and language flowed, from what source I cannot tell.

Has a girl of fourteen a heart large enough, vigorous enough, to hold the swelling spring of pure, full, fervid eloquence? Such was the characteristic of Helen’s discourse on that, to me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very brief span as much as many live during a protracted existence.

Many, already smitten, went home only to die: some died at the school, and were buried quietly and quickly, the nature of the malady forbidding delay.

yet I never tired of Helen Burns; nor ever ceased to cherish for her a sentiment of attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that ever animated my heart.

“How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger of dying! This world is pleasant—it would be dreary to be called from it, and to have to go who knows where?”

for I must see Helen,—I must embrace her before she died,—I must give her one last kiss, exchange with her one last word.

“I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you must be sure and not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about.

but don’t leave me, Jane; I like to have you near me.”

“I’ll stay with you, dear Helen: no one shall take me away.” “Are you warm, darling?”

“Good-night, Jane.” “Good-night, Helen.” She kissed me, and I her, and w...

Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years after her death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a grey marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word “Resurgam.”

rise again

I am only bound to invoke Memory where I know her responses will possess some degree of interest;

I had given in allegiance to duty and order; I was quiet; I believed I was content: to the eyes of others, usually even to my own, I appeared a disciplined and subdued character.

it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquillity was no more.