Mr. Peen Jane Eyre Quotes Quiz

this is the only thing that is good.

Jane Eyre

I was a discord in Gateshead Hall; I was like nobody there; I had nothing in harmony with Mrs. Reed, or her children, or her chosen vassalage. If they did not love me, in fact, as little did I love them…I know that, had I been a sanguine, brilliant, careless, exacting, handsome, romping child, though equally dependent and friendless, Mrs. Reed would have endured my presence more complacently; her children would have entertained for me more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling; the servants would have been less prone to make me the scape-goat of the nursery.

Jane Eyre

During these eight years my life was uniform, but not unhappy, because it was not inactive…I availed myself fully of the advantages offered me…but at the end of that time I altered…I tired of the routine of eight years in one afternoon. I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing.

Jane Eyre

When Mrs. Fairfax had bid me a kind good-night…I remembered that after a day of bodily fatigue and mental anxiety, I was now at last in safe haven. The impulse of gratitude swelled my heart, and I knelt down at the bedside and offered up thanks where thanks were due…My couch had no thorns in it that night; my solitary room no fears. At once weary and content, I slept soon and soundly; when I awoke it was broad day.

Jane Eyre

It was not my habit to be disregardful of appearance, or careless of the impression I made; on the contrary, I ever wished to look as well as I could, and to please as much as my want of beauty would permit. I sometimes regretted that I was not handsomer; I sometimes wished to have rosy cheeks, a straight nose, and small cherry mouth…

Jane Eyre

Ah! By my word! There is something singular about you,” said he; “you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-by, when they are directed piercingly to my face, as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question,, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least brusque.

Jane Eyre

I see, you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily; believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother—or father, or master, or what you will—to smile too gayly, speak too freely, or move too quickly; but in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.

Jane Eyre

While arranging my hair, I looked at my face in the glass, and felt it was no longer plain; there was hope in its aspect and life in its color; and my eyes seemed as if they had beheld the fount of fruition, and borrowed beams from the lustrous ripple. I had often been unwilling to look at my master, because I feared he could not be pleased at my look, but I was sure I might lift my face to his now and not cool his affection by its expression. I took a plain but clean and light summer dress from my drawer and put it on; it seemed no attire had ever so well become me, because none had I ever worn in so blissful a mood.

Jane Eyre

Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent expectant woman—almost a bride—was a cold, solitary girl again; her life was pale; her prospects were desolate…I looked at my love; that feeling which was my master’s…it shivered in my heart, like a suffering child in a cold cradle; sickness and anguished had seized it; it could not seek Mr. Rochester’s arms—it could not derive warmth from his breast. Oh, never more could it turn to him; for faith was blighted—confidence destroyed!

Jane Eyre

“You entered the room with a look and air at once shy and independent…ere long I found you full of strange contrasts…Very soon you seemed to get used to me—I believe you felt the existence of sympathy between you and your grim and cross master, Jane; for it was astonishing to see how quickly a certain pleasant ease tranquillized your manner…you showed no surprise, fear, annoyance, or displeasure, at my moroseness; you watched me, and now and then smiled at me with a simple yet sagacious grace I cannot describe.”

Jane Eyre

“Mr. Rochester, if ever I did a good deed in my life—if every I thought a good thought—if ever I prayed a sincere and blameless prayer—if ever I wished a righteous wish, I am rewarded now. To be your wife is, for me, to be as happy as I can be on earth…To be privileged to put my arms round what I value—to press my lips to what I love—to repose on what I trust; is that to make a sacrifice?...then certainly I delight in sacrifice.”

Edward Rochester

His figure was enveloped in a riding-cloak…but I traced the general points of middle height, and considerable breadth of chest. He had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow…He was past youth, but had not reached middle age; perhaps he might be thirty-five. I felt no fear of him…Had he been a handsome, heroic-looking young gentleman, I should not have dared to stand thus questioning him against his will, and offering my services unasked

Edward Rochester

I knew my traveler, with his broad and jetty eyebrows, his square forehead, made squarer by the horizontal sweep of his black hair. I recognized his decisive nose, more remarkable for character than beauty, his full nostrils, denoting, I thought, choler; his grim mouth, chin, and jaw—yes, all three were very grim, and no mistake…I suppose it was a good figure in the athletic sense of the term, broad-chested and thin-flanked, though neither tall nor graceful.

Edward Rochester

Yet I had not forgotten his faults…He was proud, sardonic, harsh to inferiority of every description…He was moody, too…But I believe that his moodiness, his harshness, and his former faults of morality…had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies…I thought there were excellent materials in him, though, for the present, they hung together somewhat spoiled and tangled.

Edward Rochester

I knew there would be pleasure in meeting my master again, even though broken by the fear that he was so soon to cease to be my master, and by the knowledge that I was nothing to him; but there was ever in Mr. Rochester (so, at least, I thought) such a wealth of the power of communicating happiness…His last words were balm. They seemed to imply that it imported something to him whether I forget him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home—would that it were my home!

Edward Rochester

It will atone—it will atone. Have I not found her friendless, and cold, and comfortless?…Is there not love in my heart, and constancy in my resolves? It will expiate at God’s tribunal. I know my Maker sanctions what I do. For the world’s judgment—I wash my hands thereof. For man’s opinion—I defy it.

Edward Rochester

“To women who please me only by their faces, I am the very devil when I find out they have neither souls nor hearts…but to the clear eye and eloquent tongue, to the soul made of fire, and the character that bends but does not break—at once supple and stable, tractable and consistent—I am every tender and true.”

Edward Rochester

To tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery; you know now that I had but a hideous demon. I was wrong to attempt to deceive you; but I feared a stubbornness that exists in your character…This was cowardly; I should have appealed to your nobleness and magnanimity at first…shown to you, not my resolution (that word is weak), but my resistless bent to love faithfully and well, where I am faithfully and well loved in return.

Edward Rochester

His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever. His port was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were his features altered or sunk…But in his countenance I saw a change. That looked desperate and brooding—that reminded me of some wronged and fettered wild beast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sullen woe.

Edward Rochester

Jane! you think me, I dare say, an irreligious dog; but my heart swells with gratitude to the beneficent God of this earth just now. He sees not as man sees, but far clearer; judges not as man judges, but far more wisely. I did you wrong…Divine justice pursued its course; disasters came thick upon me…Of late, Jane—only of late—I began to see and acknowledge the hand of God in my doom. I began to experience remorse, repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker.

Edward Rochester

We talk, I believe, all day long…All my confidence is bestowed on him; all his confidence is devoted to me…Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhaps it was that circumstance that drew us so very near—that knit us so very close; for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand…he claimed these services without painful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knew no reluctance in profiting by my attendance; he felt I loved him so fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes.

St. John Rivers

He was young—perhaps from twenty-eight to thirty—tall, slender; his face riveted the eye; it was like a Greek face, very pure in outline; quite a straight, classic nose; quite an Athenian mouth and chin…He might well be a little shocked at the irregularity of my lineaments, his own being so harmonious. His eyes were large and blue, with brown lashes; his high forehead, colorless as ivory, was partially streaked over by careless locks of fair hair.

St. John Rivers

This is a gentle delineation, is it not, reader? Yet he whom it describes scarcely impressed one with the idea of a gentle, a yielding, an impressible, or even of a placid nature. Quiescent as he now sat, there was something about his nostril, his mouth, his brow, which, to my perceptions, indicated elements within either restless, or hard, or eager.

St. John Rivers

But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier to friendship with him; he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, and even a brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial labors, blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoy that mental serenity, that inward content, which should be the reward of every sincere Christian and practical philanthropist.

St. John Rivers

A year ago, I was myself intensely miserable, because I thought I had made a mistake in entering the ministry; its uniform duties wearied me to death. I burned for the more active life of the world—for the more exciting toils of a literary career—for the destiny of an artist, author, orator; anything rather than that of a priest…After a season of darkness and struggling, light broke and relief fell; my cramped existence all at once spread out to a plain without bounds—my powers heard a call from Heaven to rise…God had an errand for me;

St. John Rivers

“While something in me,” he went on, “is acutely sensible to her charms, something else is as deeply impressed with her defects; they are such that she could sympathize in nothing I aspired to; cooperate in nothing I undertook. Rosamond a sufferer, a laborer, a female apostle? Rosamond a missionary’s wife? No!”

St. John Rivers

St. John was a good man; but I began to feel he had spoken truth of himself when he said he was hard and cold. The humanities and amenities of life had no attraction for him…he would never rest, nor approve of others resting round him…I comprehended, all at once, that he would hardly make a good husband; that it would be a trying thing to be his wife.

St. John Rivers

I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exacting master; he expected me to do a great deal, and when I fulfilled his expectations he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation. By degrees, he acquired a certain influence over me that took away my liberty of mind…I did not love my servitude; I wished, many a time, he had continued to neglect me.

St. John Rivers

“God and nature intended you for a missionary’s wife. It is not personal but mental endowments they have given you; you are formed for labor, not love. A missionary’s wife you must—shall be. You shall be mine; I claim you—not for my pleasure, but for my Sovereign’s service.”

St. John Rivers

“Refuse to be my wife, and you limit yourself forever to a track of selfish ease and barren obscurity.”

St. John Rivers

As to St. John Rivers…He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A more resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amid rocks and dangers. …His is the ambition of the high master-spirit, which aims to fill a place in the first rank of those who are redeemed from the earth—who stand without fault before the throne of God…No fear of death will darken St. John’s last hour.

Helen Burns

The punishment seemed to me in a high degree ignominious, especially for so great a girl—she looked thirteen or upward…to my surprise, she neither wept nor blushed. Composed, though grave, she stood, the central mark of all eyes…her sight seems turned in, gone down into her heart. She is looking at what she can remember, I believe; not at what is really present. I wonder what sort of girl she is—whether good or naughty.”

Helen Burns

“Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs. We are, and must be, one and all, burdened by faults in this world; but the time will soon come when, I trust, we shall put them off in putting off our corruptible bodies...I hold another creed, which no one ever taught me, and which I seldom mention, but in which I delight, and to which I cling; for it extends hope to all; it makes Eternity a rest—a mighty home, not a terror and an abyss.”

Helen Burns

What my sensations were, no language can describe; but just as they all rose, stifling my breath and constricting my throat, a girl came up and passed me; in passing, she lifted her eyes. What a strange light inspired them!...It was as if a martyr, a hero, had passed a slave or victim, and imparted strength in the transit. I mastered the rising hysteria, lifted up my head, and took a firm stand on the stool.

Helen Burns

While sobbing out this wish in broken accents, some one approached; I started up—again Helen Burns was near me…She sat down on the ground near me, embraced her knees with her arms, and rested her head upon them; in that attitude she remained silent as an Indian.

Helen Burns

“Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of human beings; you are too impulsive, too vehement; the Sovereign hand that created your frame, and put life into it, has provided you with other resources…Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits;…those spirits watch us, for they are commissioned to guard us…and God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward”.

Helen Burns

Helen had calmed me; but in the tranquility she imparted there was an alloy of inexpressible sadness. I felt the impression of woe as she spoke, but I could not tell whence it came; and when, having done speaking, she breathed a little fast and coughed a short cough, I momentarily forgot my own sorrows to yield to a vague concern for her.

Helen Burns

The refreshing meal, the brilliant fire, the presence and kindness of her beloved instructress, or perhaps more than all these, something in her own unique mind, had roused her powers within her. They woke, they kindled; first, they glowed in the bright tint of her cheek, which till this hour I had never seen but pale and bloodless; then they shone in the liquid lustre of her eyes, which had suddenly acquired a beauty more singular than that of Miss Temple’s—a beauty neither of fine color, nor long eyelash, nor penciled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance…Such was the characteristic of Helen’s discourse on that, to me, memorable evening; her spirit seemed hastening to live within a very brief span as much as many live during a protracted existence.

Helen Burns

“I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead you must be sure and not grieve; there is nothing to grieve about. We all must die one day, and the illness which is removing me is not painful; it is gentle and gradual; my mind is at rest…By dying young I shall escape great sufferings…I believe; I have faith; I am going to God.”

Helen Burns

I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her own room at dawn, had found me laid in the little crib; my face against Helen Burns’ shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, and Helen was—dead. Her grave is in Brocklebridge church-yard; for fifteen years after her death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a gray marble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name and the word “Resurgam.”

Mrs. Reed

Well might I dread—well might I dislike Mrs. Reed, for it was her nature to wound me cruelly…Now, uttered before a stranger, the accusation cut me to the heart. I dimly perceived that she was already obliterating hope from the new phase of existence which she destined me to enter; I felt, though I could not have expressed the feeling, that she was sowing aversion and unkindness along my future path.

Mrs. Reed

Mrs. Reed might be at that time, some six or seven-and-thirty; she was a woman of robust frame, square-shouldered and strong-limbed, not tall, and, though stout, not obese. She had a somewhat large face, the under-jaw being much developed and very solid; her brow was low, her chin large and prominent, mouth and nose sufficiently regular; under her light eyebrows glimmered an eye devoid of truth; her skin was dark and opaque, her hair nearly flaxen; her constitution was sound as a bell; illness never came near her; she was an exact, clever manager; her household and tenantry were thoroughly under her control.

Mrs. Reed

“You think I have no feelings, and that I can live without one bit of love or kindness; but I cannot live so; and you have no pity. I shall remember how you thrust me back—roughly and violently thrust me back into the red-room, and locked me up there—to my dying day; though I was in agony;…And that punishment you made me suffer because your wicked boy struck me…People think you a good woman; but you are bad—hard-hearted.

Mrs. Reed

The well-known face was there, stern, relentless, as ever; there was that peculiar eye which nothing could melt, and the somewhat raised, imperious, despotic eyebrow. How often had it lowered on me menace and hate! And how the recollection of childhood’s terrors and sorrows revived as I traced its harsh line now! And yet I stooped down and kissed her; she looked at me...I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again; I thought it no sin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers fastened on her hand which lay outside the sheet; had she pressed mine kindly, I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure. But unimpressionable natures are not so soon softened, nor are natural antipathies so readily eradicated; Mrs. Reed took her hand away, and turning her face rather from me, she remarked that the night was warm. Again she regarded me, so icily, I felt at once that her opinion of me—her feeling toward me—was unchanged and unchangeable.

Mrs. Reed

Poor, suffering woman! It is too late for her to make now the effort to change her habitual frame of mind; living, she had ever hated me—dying, she must hate me still.