My Rest Might Have Been Blissful Enough,

I Know I Must Conceal My Sentiments: I Must Smother Hope; I Must Remember That He Cannot Care Much For Me. For When I Say That I Am Of His Kind, I Do Not Mean That I Have His Force To Influence, And His Spell To Attract: I Mean Only That I Have Certain Tastes And Feelings In Common With Him.i Must, Then, Repeat Continually That We Are Forever Sundered: - And Yet, While I Breathe And Think, I Must Love Him.

It Is One Of My Faults, That Though My Tongue Is Sometimes Prompt Enough At An Answer, There Are Times When It Sadly Fails Me In Framing An Excuse; And Always The Lapse Occurs At Some Crisis, When A Facile Word Or Plausible Pretext Is Specially Wanted To Get Me Out Of Painful Embarrassment.

He Made Me Love Him Without Looking At Me.

Jane Eyre "i Desired More...than Was Within My Reach. Who Blames Me? Many Call Me Discontented. I Couldn't Help It: The Restlessness Is In My Nature; It Agitated Me To Pain Sometimes.

To The Dear Eye And Eloquent Tongue, To The Soul Made Of Fire, And The Character That Bends But Does Not Break... I Am Ever Tender And True.