“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.”
More from Anne Brontë
“He who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.”
“How odd it is that we so often weep for each other’s distresses, when we shed not a tear…”
“Matrimony is a serious thing.”
“Increase of love brings increase of happiness, when it is mutual, and pure as that will…”