A waft of wind came sweeping down the laurel-walk, and trembled through the boughs of the chestnut: it wandered away-away-to an indefinite distance-it died. The nightingale's song was then the only voice of the hour: in listening to it, I again wept.
-Charlotte Brontë
Select a background
More quotes by Charlotte Brontë
Popular Authors
A curated listing of popular authors.