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Wild was the wrestle which should be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and cynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified his countenance: he went on—. "During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with my destiny.
- Chapter Xvii
I cannot tell whether Miss Ingram was a genius, but she was...
- Chapter Xxxvi
He would be alone, too. He sent Mrs. Fairfax, the...
- Chapter Xxix
I did not refuse it, for my appetite was awakened and keen....
- Chapter Xxv
Chapter Xxv - Jane Eyre: Chapter XV - SparkNotes
- Chapter Xxi
"Why, you see, Miss Eyre, it is not a common mishap: his...
- Chapter VIII
Miss Temple, having assembled the whole school, announced...
- Chapter XI
A new chapter in a novel is something like a new scene in a...
- Chapter XIV
Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a little farther forward:...
- Chapter Xxvii
Chapter Xxvii - Jane Eyre: Chapter XV - SparkNotes
- Chapter XII
Read the full text of Jane Eyre: Chapter XII. Search all of...
- Chapter Xvii
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I had made no noise: he had not eyes behind—could his shadow feel? I started at first, and then I approached him. "Look at his wings," said he, "he reminds me rather of a West Indian insect; one does not often see so large and gay a night-rover in England; there! he is flown."
It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science: though, as she said, she liked flowers, “especially wild ones;” Miss Ingram had, and she ran over its vocabulary with an air.
Jane Eyre (Chap. 5) Lyrics. Five o’clock had hardly struck on the morning of the 19th of January, when Bessie brought a candle into my closet and found me already up and nearly dressed.
In five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: I knew quite well that I was in my own bed, and that the red glare was the nursery fire. It was night: a candle burnt on the table; Bessie stood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand, and a gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow, leaning over me.
Jane Eyre has made its mark upon the age, and even palsied the talons of mercenary criticism. Yes, critics hired to abuse or panegyrize, at so much per line, have felt a throb of human feeling pervade their veins, at the perusal of Jane Eyre .
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“You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be...
