Villette - Blog Posts
found Villette at a local bookstore and almost had a heart attack ! it was only $12 too
it's nice to see not all bookstores have been so heavily affected by mainstream books, I'm definitely going back there
“His mind was indeed my library, and whenever it was opened to me I entered bliss.”
– Villette, Charlotte Brontë
I love this quote. But at the same time - EXCUSE ME? I’m going half crazy with the fact that Charlotte Brontë DOES NOT think happiness is a potato, EVEN THOUGH she came to Belgium in 1842, where - SINCE THE LATE 17TH CENTURY - they were already making FRIES (aside from the whole France vs. Belgium as the inventors of fried potatoes dispute).
Ma’am? EXCUSE ME?
Maybe that’s why Lucy got sick of loneliness. A walk in the garden is a wonderful thing, but what would be a better balm on your achy heart??! Watching the bees buzzing around or EATING SOME TASTY DELICIOUS FRIED POTATOES?
Well. That’s the end of my crash out. Lunch?
“Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure. Happiness is a glory shining far down upon us out of heaven. She is a divine dew which the soul, on certain of its summer mornings, feels dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and golden fruitage of Paradise.”
– Villette, Charlotte Brontë
“Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure. Happiness is a glory shining far down upon us out of heaven. She is a divine dew which the soul, on certain of its summer mornings, feels dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and golden fruitage of Paradise.”
– Villette, Charlotte Brontë
“How often, while women and girls sit warm at snug firesides, their hearts and imaginations are doomed to divorce from the comfort surrounding their persons, forced out by night to wander through dark ways, to dare stress of weather, to contend with the snow-blast, to wait at lonely gates and stiles in wildest storms, watching and listening to see and hear the father, the son, the husband coming home.”
– Vilette, Charlotte Brontë
“He asked me, smiling, why I cared for his letter so very much. I thought, but did not say, that I prized it like the blood in my veins.”
– Villette, Charlotte Brontë