farnoosh

I read it in my 16 days of freedom and I finished it before my semester starts (which is tomorrow)
Here are the parts I loved the most:
...But I got over that pain also.Life is still life,whatever its pangs: Our eyes and ears and their use remains with us,though the prospect of what pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of consoles be quite silenced.

Nobody ever launches into love unless he has seen or dreamed the rising of Hope's star over Love's troubled waters.

It is not supportable to be stabbed to the heart each moment by sharp revival of regret.

The hope I am bemoaning sufered and made me suffer much; it did not die till it was full time: following an agony so lingering, death out to be welcome.

I felt,if not brave,yet a little desperate; and despiration will often suffice tofill the post and do the work of courage.

"Lived and Loved!" said she,"is that the summit of earthly happiness,the end of life-to love? Idon't think it is.It maybe the extreme of mortal misery it may be sheer waste of time,and fruitless torture of feelin. If Schiller had said to be loved-he might have come nearer the truth.

There are people whom a lowered position degrades morally, to whom loss of connection cost lost of self-respect: are not these justified in placing the highest value on that station and association which is their safegaurd from debasement? If a man feels that he would become contempitable in his own eyes were it generally known that his ancestry were simple and not gentle, poor and nor rich, workers and not capitalists, would it be right severely to blame him for keeping these fatal facts out of sight-for starting, trembling, quailing at the chance which threatens exposure? The longer we live, the more our experience widens; the less prone are we to judge our neighbour's conduct, to question the worlds wisdom; wherever an accumulation of small defences is found,whether surrounding the prude's virtue or the man of the world's respectibility, there, be sure, it is needed.

Courage, Lucy Snowe! With self-denial and economy now, and steady exertion be-and-by, and object in life need not fail you.Venture not to complain that such an object is too selfish, too limited, and lacks interest; be content to labour for independence until you have proved, by winnig that prize,your right to look higher.But afterwards. is there nothing more for me in life-no true hame-nothing to be dearer to me than myself ,and by its paramount preciousness, to draw from me better things than I care to culture for myself only? Nothing, at whose feet I can willingly laydown the whole burden of human egotism, and gloriosly take up the nobler charge of labouring and living for others?

I believe that this life is not all, neither the beginning nor the end.I believe in some blending of hope and sunshine sweeetening the worst lots.I believe while I tremble, I trust while I sleep.

It is alright to look at our life accounts bravely in the face now and then, and settle them honestly. And he is a poor self-swindler, who lies to himself while he reckons the items,and setsdown under the head-happiness that which is misery.

Falsify; insert 'privilege' where you should've written 'pain' and see if your mighty creditor will allow the fraud to pass,or accept the coin with which you would cheat him, offer to the strongest-if the darkest angel of God's host-water, when he has asked blood-will he take it? Not a whole pale sea for one red drop.

I too was happy-happy with the bright day, happier with his presence,happiest with his kindness.-in the farm while reading for M.Paul.

"God be merciful to me, a sinner!"

Whatever say priests or controversialists, God is good, and loves all the sincere.Believe, the, what you can; believe it as you can;one prayer at least we have in common; I also cry-'O Dieu, Sois appaise envers moi qui suis pecheur!'"

Deeper than melancholy, lies a heart-break.

'Art thou not from everlasting mine Holy one? We shall not die!'

One and again, I have found that the most cross-grained are by no means the worst of mankind, nor the humblest in station, the least polished in feelings.

amidst, so much life and joy, too, it suited me to alone-quite alone. Having neither wish nor power to force my way through a mass so close-packed, my station was on the farthest confines, where indeed, I might hear, but could see little.

all the movement was mine, so was all the life the reality, the substance, the force,; as my instinct felt. I tore her up-the incubus! I held her on high-the Goblin! I shook her loose-the mystery! And down she fell-down all around me-down in shred and fragments-and I trode upon her.

"Truth, you are a good mistress to your faithfull servants! While a lie pressed me, how I suffered! Even when the falsehood was still sweet,still flattering to the fancy, and warm to the feelings, it wasted me with hourly torment. The persuasion that affection was woncould not be divorced from the gread that,by another turn of the wheel, it might be lost. Truth stripped away Falsehood,and Flattery, and Expectrancy, and here I stand-Free!"

I believe you feel nothing. You haven't the same sensitiveness that a person of my constitution has, you seem to me insensible both to pain and fear and grief.

Ere long I sat beside him once more myself-re-assured-not desperate, nor yet desolate; not friendless, not hopeless, not sick of life,and seeking death.

"Say anyhting, teach anything, prove anything, monsiure; I can listen now."

Certian junctures of our lives must always be difficult of recall to memory. Certain points, crises, certain felings-joy, greif, and amazement-when reviewed, must strick us as things wildered and whirling, dim as a wheel fast spun.

Happy hours-stay one moment! Dropp those plumes, rest those wings; incline to mine that brow of Heaven! White angel! Let thy light linger; leave its reflection on succeeding clouds; bequeath its cheer to that time which needs a ray in retrospect!

I was full of faults; he took them and me all home. For the moment of utmost matiny, he reserved the one deep spell of peace. These words caressed my ear;"Lucy, take my love.One day share my life.Be my dearest, first on earth."

He deemed me born under his star: he seemed to have spread over me its beam like a banner.Once-unknown and unloved,I held him harsh and strange; the low stature, the winy make, the amgles, the darkness, the manner, displeased me.Now, penetrated with his influence and living by his affection, having his worth by intellect, and his goodness by heart-I preferred him before all humanity.

We parted:he gave me his pledge, and then his farewell.We parted:the next day- he sailed.

man cannot prophecy.Love is no oracle.Fear sometimes imagines a vain thing.

Chariot and demon charioteer were gone by; the votary still lived.

The sun passes the equinox; the days shorten, the leaves grow sere; but-he is coming.
Forests appear at night; November has sent his fogs in advance; the wind takes its autemn moon; but-he is coming.
The skies hang full and dark-a rock sails from the west; the clouds cast themselves into strange forms-archesand broad radiations;there rise resplendent mornings-glorious, royal, purple as monarch in his state; the heavens are one flame;so wild are they, they rival battle as its thickest- so bloody, they shame victory in her pride. I know some signs of the sky; I have noted them ever since childhood.
God,Watch that sail! Oh! Gaurd it!

The ending ,as it says in the book ,is up to the reader to decide...but I'm still waiting for that ship to reach the shore