Emily Bronte Quotes
The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window.
Emily Bronte
Quotes to Explore
I'd love to do a movie where the monster is human, where the issue is not otherworldly, or horror or science fiction.
J. J. Abrams
If you love attention and have a pretty decent voice, that's a pretty good combination.
Zara Larsson
Melancholy, indeed, should be diverted by every means but drinking.
Samuel Johnson
Along with 'Free,' where I sing quite a bit, there are additional songs on 'Skin' where you can hear my voice in the background - lots of 'oohs' and 'aahs.' But more often than not, I use my vocals to prompt other rappers and singers to feel calmer, better, bolder.
Flume
High fashion has become representative of stability in unstable places; that allows you to have a voice in the world stage.
Hailey Gates
We in Congress stand by Israel. In Congress, we speak with one voice on the subject of Israel.
Nancy Pelosi
High school sucked. It was a universal truth, and whoever said these were supposed to be the best years of your life was probably drunk or delusional.
Kami Garcia
I struck out with two men on base. I was so angry, so frustrated, I turned and without even thinking about it, snapped my bat over my thigh. The bat split right in half. Afterward, reporters asked me if it was the first time I'd ever broken a bat over my thigh. "I broke an aluminum bat over my knee in college," I said. (I was just kidding).
Bo Jackson
The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window.
Emily Bronte