"For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude"

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They will both be happy, and I do not grudge them their bliss; but I groan under my own misery: some of my suffering is very acute. Truly, I ought not to have been born: they should have smothered me at first cry.

— Charlotte Bronte