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
The human voice deployed to recite the Vedas and later aid the temple dancers was paramount before any instruments emerged.
Tariq Ali
Be the best at what you're good at.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Donald Trump has made it clear that he regards Hungary highly.
Viktor Orban
Of all ills that one endures, hope is a cheap and universal cure.
Abraham Cowley
It is rather astonishing how little practical value scientific knowledge has for ordinary men, how dull and commonplace such of it as has value is, and how its value seems almost to vary inversely to its reputed utility.
G. H. Hardy
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
