“My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; - out of a sullen hollow in a livid hillside, her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the least and best-loved was - liberty. Liberty was the breath of Emily’s nostrils; without it she perished.”
— Charlotte Brontë on her sister Emily (letter dated 1835).
















