Rochester: Listen to me. Listen.
Rochester: I could bend you with my finger and my thumb! A mere reed you feel in my hands.
Rochester: But whatever I do with this cage, I cannot get at you. And it is your soul that I want. Why don’t you come of your own free will?
Jane Eyre: God help me!
Rochester: Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Only rarely perhaps. But you’re not naturally austere, any more than I’m naturally vicious. I can see in you the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage, a vivid, restless captive. Were it but free, it would soar, cloud high.
