Emily Bronte

Author of Wuthering Heights

Emily Bronte

Emily Jane Brontë was the most solitary member of an English provincial family, unique and tightly knit. Born in 1818, she shared the parsonage of the town of Haworth, Yorkshire, with her older sister, Charlotte; her brother, Branwell; her younger sister, Anne; and her father, Reverend Patrick Brontë. All five were poets and writers, and all but Branwell would publish at least one book. Charlotte Brontë encountered a manuscript volume of poems ... of her sister in 1845. At the urging of her sister, Emily's poems were published pseudonymously in 1846, along with Anne's and Charlotte's. An almost complete silence welcomed this volume but the three sisters immediately began to write novels, boosted by the fact of publication. Emily's effort was Wuthering Heights; appearing in 1847, Charlotte, whose Jane Eyre had already been published with great acclaim, treated it at first as a lesser work. The name of Emily Brontë did not emerge from behind her pseudonym Ellis Bell until 1850, when the second edition of her novel appeared.READ MORE

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    Fiction Classics, Fiction, Romance, Literary Fiction, Children's Middle Grade Books, Children's Picture Books, Children's Middle Grade Historical Books, Childrens







Popular quotes by Emily Bronte

I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. 'Come in! come in!' he sobbed. 'Cathy, do come. Oh, do - ONCE more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me THIS time, Catherine, at last!' The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.

The old church tower and garden wall
Are black with autumn rain
And dreary winds foreboding call
The darkness down again

He was, and is yet, most likely, the wearisomest, self-righteous pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself, and fling the curses on his neighbours.

It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself compared with him.

Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing and the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf.

The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads and revealed their faces, animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel, and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity.

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