~~ Emily Bronte, 1848 ~~
It seems poignant that within months of writing about the pleasure, relevance and hope that dreams give her, Emily was to die of consumption. Those images which were conjured up in the picture palace of her mind for future inspiration, were to end with endless sleep. We will never be sure whether Emily`s dreams are the dreams of sleep, or whether she was a dreamer of the day; though both are different, she ultimately placed her dreams onto the written page, and spread her dreamworld before us like an endless landscape of tempestuous storms; harsh, greedy, self destructive romanticism, and a gaze so deep and penetrating into the hidden, inner turmoil of the human soul, as to be like the keenest edged psychological rapier. It is sometimes said that, ” It is better to travel in hope than to arrive”, though in Emily`s case, the arrival of her own death stilled a mind full of hope and dreams for a journey which was cruelly cut short. Ultimately, her dreams may not have stayed with her forever, but they have drifted down through the minds of generations who love the power and beauty of the word written by a sublime, and unrivaled genius. Her words and dreams will certainly live with us forever.