Anne Brontë book The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
Source: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848), Ch. XXIII : First weeks of Matrimony; Arthur to Helen
The Wind at the Door, from Poets of the English Language, W. H. Auden and Norman Holmes Pearson (1950).
Anne Brontë book The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
Source: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848), Ch. XXIII : First weeks of Matrimony; Arthur to Helen
“Her soul's light shines through,
But her soul cannot be seen.”
Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918) American poet, editor, literary critic, soldier
Main Street and Other Poems (1917), A Blue Valentine
Context: Her soul's light shines through,
But her soul cannot be seen.
It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, infantile, wise
And noble.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky book The Dream of a Ridiculous Man
Source: The Dream of a Ridiculous Man (1877), V
Context: Alas! I always loved sorrow and tribulation, but only for myself, for myself; but I wept over them, pitying them. I stretched out my hands to them in despair, blaming, cursing and despising myself. I told them that all this was my doing, mine alone; that it was I had brought them corruption, contamination and falsity. I besought them to crucify me, I taught them how to make a cross. I could not kill myself, I had not the strength, but I wanted to suffer at their hands. I yearned for suffering, I longed that my blood should be drained to the last drop in these agonies. But they only laughed at me, and began at last to look upon me as crazy. They justified me, they declared that they had only got what they wanted themselves, and that all that now was could not have been otherwise. At last they declared to me that I was becoming dangerous and that they should lock me up in a madhouse if I did not hold my tongue. Then such grief took possession of my soul that my heart was wrung, and I felt as though I were dying; and then... then I awoke.
Zora Neale Hurston book Their Eyes Were Watching God
Source: Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937), Ch. 20, p. 193.
Context: Of course he wasn't dead. He could never be dead until she herself had finished feeling and thinking. The kiss of his memory made pictures of love and light against the wall. Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.
“Is this what love feels like?" he whispered to her. "I don't like it, my Beth. It hurts too much.”
Jennifer Ashley (1974) American author
Source: The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882) English poet, illustrator, painter and translator
Stanza 7. <br class="br"> The Blessed Damozel http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/715.html (1850)