Jennifer Campbell > Jennifer's Quotes

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  • #1
    Emily Brontë
    “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
    Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  • #2
    Emily Brontë
    “If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”
    Emily Jane Brontë , Wuthering Heights

  • #3
    Emily Brontë
    “Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!”
    Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  • #4
    Emily Brontë
    “It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands,' he answered. 'Kiss me again; and don’t let me see your eyes! I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer—but yours! How can I?”
    Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

  • #5
    Charlotte Brontë
    “I would always rather be happy than dignified.”
    Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  • #6
    Blaise Pascal
    “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of... We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart." - Blaise Pascal”
    Blaise Pascal

  • #7
    Kurt Vonnegut
    “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
    Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night

  • #8
    Kurt Vonnegut
    “Those who believe in telekinetics, raise my hand.”
    Kurt Vonnegut

  • #9
    Kurt Vonnegut
    “If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:
    THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
    FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
    WAS MUSIC”
    kurt vonnegut

  • #10
    Kurt Vonnegut
    “Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.”
    Kurt Vonnegut

  • #11
    Kurt Vonnegut
    “How nice -- to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive.”
    Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

  • #12
    Charlotte Brontë
    “Happiness quite unshared can scarcely be called happiness; it has no taste.”
    Charlotte Bronte

  • #13
    Leo Tolstoy
    “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”
    Leo Tolstoy , Anna Karenina

  • #14
    Leo Tolstoy
    “I think... if it is true that
    there are as many minds as there
    are heads, then there are as many
    kinds of love as there are hearts.”
    Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

  • #15
    Leo Tolstoy
    “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”
    Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

  • #16
    Robert Frost
    “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.”
    Robert Frost

  • #17
    Fernando Pessoa
    “Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.”
    Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

  • #18
    Thomas Babington Macaulay
    “What a blessing it is to love books as I love them;- to be able to converse with the dead, and to live amidst the unreal!”
    Thomas Babington Macaulay, The Selected Letters Of Thomas Babington Macaulay

  • #19
    Arnold Lobel
    “Books to the ceiling,
    Books to the sky,
    My pile of books is a mile high.
    How I love them! How I need them!
    I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.”
    Arnold Lobel

  • #20
    Ray Bradbury
    “It was a pleasure to burn.
    It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace, while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.”
    Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451



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