"His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a  moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the  slightest touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind."
 -Anne Bronte

"His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the slightest touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind."

-Anne Bronte