That,however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me? And what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every tree - filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day, I am surrounded with her imagine! The most ordinary faces of men and women- my own face - mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda thst she did exist, and that I have lost her!

- Emilly Brontë