“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,” said she afterwards to herself. “There is nothing to be compared to it.”
Jane Austen · Emma
Love & longing
“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart,” said she…”
- Author
- Jane Austen
- Work
- Emma
- Year
- 1815
- Chapter / part
- Chapter XIII
- Length
- 22 words
- Source
- Project Gutenberg eBook #158
Public domain. This passage is in the public domain. Jane Austen died in 1817, more than 70 years ago, and the work was first published in 1815. You can copy, print, read aloud or sell it without asking permission; a credit is kind but not required. The text is copied word for word from the Project Gutenberg edition linked here.
Related passages
You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.
In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,My love as deep; the more I give to thee,The more I have, for both are infinite.
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyesI all alone beweep my outcast state,And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,And look upon myself, and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,With what I most enjoy contented least;Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,Haply I think on thee, and then my state,Like to the lark at break of day arisingFrom sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth bringsThat then I scorn to change my state with kings.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of everyday’sMost quiet need, by sun and candlelight.I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett BrowningSonnets from the Portuguese, 1850 · Sonnet XLIII
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