Quotes By Anne Bronte
His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the slightest touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind.
Anne Bronte
She was trusted and valued by her father, loved and courted by all dogs, cats, children, and poor people, and slighted and neglected by everybody else.
Anne Bronte
Oh, I am very weary, Though tears no longer flow; My eyes are tired of weeping, My heart is sick of woe.
Anne Bronte