But Life Is A Battle:

I Longed For A Power Of Vision Which Might Overpass That Limit; Which Might Reach The Busy World, Towns, Regions Full Of Life I Had Heard Of But Never Seen: That I Desired More Of Practical Experience Than I Possessed; More Of Intercourse With My Kind, Of Acquaintance With Variety Of Character, Than Was Here Within My Reach.

I Both Wished And Feared To See Mr. Rochester On The Day Which Followed This Sleepless Night. I Wanted To Hear His Voice Again, Yet Feared To Meet His Eye.

My Sister Emily Loved The Moors. Flowers Brighter Than The Rose Bloomed In The Blackest Of The Heath For Her; Out Of A Sullen Hollow In A Livid Hillside Her Mind Could Make An Eden. She Found In The Bleak Solitude Many And Dear Delights; And Not The Least And Best-loved Was – Liberty.

Fair As A Lily, And Not Only The Pride Of Life, But The Desire Of His Eyes

Is There Not A Terrible Hollowness, Mockery, Want, Craving, In That Existence Which Is Given Away To Others, For Want Of Something Of Your Own To Bestow It On?