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.
I’ve always wanted to edit this and I finally found a bigger scan of it so yay!
(via zlot)
I’ve a strange feeling with regard to you, as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs tightly knotted to a similar string in you.
And if you were to leave, I’m afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I’ve a notion that I’d take to bleeding inwardly
(via zlot)
“You transfix me quite. I feel like I can speak to you, now, of my lovely one. You’ve met her, and you know her. She’s a rare one, isn’t she? Fresh and healthy, without soil or taint. I’m sure she’d regenerate me with a vengeance.”
It’s Jane Eyre time, motherfuckers.
Listen to me. Listen. I could bend you with my finger and my thumb. A mere reed you feel in my hands. But whatever I do with this cage, I cannot get at you, and it is your soul that I want. Why can’t you come of your own free will?
