"Yes, at least, they could not deprive me of that: I could think of him day and night; and I feel that he was worthy to be thought of. Nobody knew him as I did; nobody could apprectiate him as I did; nobody could love him as I - could, if I might: but there was the evil. What business had I to think so much of one that never thought of me? Was it not foolish? Was it not wrong? Yet, if I found such deep delight in thinking of him, and if I kept those thoughts to myself, and troubled no one else with them, where was the harm of it? I would ask myself. And such reasoning prevented me from making any sufficient effort to shake off my fetters."
Agnes Grey
by Anne Bronte