JANE EYRE

1. Often, Charlotte Bronte uses starvation to symbolize Jane's intense yearning for a better life. Whenever she suffers the literal pangs of hunger, you can be sure that there is some deeper desire left unfulfilled on Jane's conscience.

2. Journeys are a way for Jane to come to conclusions that would elude her if she were to cozy up in one place--for instance, Jane would have remained under the duress of Gateshead if she had not taken the first leap to Lowood. Bronte uses journeys in order to reflect Jane's "coming of age" throughout the novel.

3. Starvation

3.1. "'Unjust!--unjust!' said my reason, forced by the agonising stimulus into precocious though transitory power: and Resolve, equally wrought up, instigated some strange expedient to achieve escape from insupportable oppression--as running away, or, if that could not be effected, never eating or drinking more, and letting myself die." (Chapter II, pg. 11)

3.2. "This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it. Vain favour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wished for, too late! I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird, the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate and tart away." (Chapter III, pg. 17)

3.3. "Ravenous, and now very faint, I devoured a spoonful or two of my portion without thinking of its taste; but the first edge of hunger blunted, I perceived I had got in hand a nauseous mess; burnt porridge is almost as bad as rotten potatoes; famine itself soon sickens over it." (Chapter V, pg. 46)

3.3.1. Burnt Porridge of Yuckiness

3.4. "Then the scanty supply of food was distressing: with the keen appetites of growing children, we had scarcely sufficient to keep alive a delicate invalid. From this deficiency of nourishment resulted an abuse, which pressed hardly on the younger pupils: whenever the famished great girls had an opportunity, they would coax or menace the little ones out of their portion. Many a time I have shared between two claimants the precious morsel of brown bread distributed at tea-time; and after relinquishing to a third half the contents of my mug of coffee, I have swallowed the remainder with an accompaniment of secret tears, forced from me by the exigency of hunger." (Chapter VII, pg. 63)

3.5. "'Oh, madam, when you put bread and cheese, instead of burnt porridge, into these children's mouths, you may indeed feed their vile bodies, but you little think how you starve their immortal souls!'" (Chapter VII, pg. 67)

3.6. "How fragrant was the steam of the beverage, and the scent of the toast! of which, however, I, to my dismay (for I was beginning to be hungry) discerned only a very small portion: Miss Temple discerned it too." (Chapter VIII, pg. 78)

3.7. "That night, on going to bed, I forgot to prepare in imagination the Barmecide supper of hot roast potatoes, or white bread and new milk, with which I was wont to amuse my inward cravings: I feasted instead on the spectacle of ideal drawings..." (Chapter VIII, pg. 81)

3.8. "Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of the pupils to receive infection: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one time." (Chapter IX, pg. 83)

3.9. "She was really hungry, so the chicken and tarts served to divert her attention for a time. It was well I secured this forage, or both she, I, and Sophie, to whom I conveyed a share of our repast, would have run a chance of getting no dinner at all: every one downstairs was too much engaged to think of us." (Chapter XVII, pg. 190)

3.10. "'She will have nothing to eat: you will starve her,' observed Adele. 'I shall gather manna for her morning and night: the plains and hillsides in the moon are bleached with manna, Adele.'" (Chapter XXIV, pg. 307)

3.11. "I starved; but once did food pass my lips. At the door of a cottage I saw a little girl about to throw a mess of cold porridge into a pig trough." (Chapter XXVIII, pg. 380)

3.11.1. Pig Trough 'o Dispair

4. Journeys

4.1. "She boasted of beautiful paintings of landscapes and flowers by them executed; of songs they could sing and pieces they could play, of purses they could net, of French books they could translate; till my spirit was moved to emulation as I listened. Besides, school would be a complete change: it implied a long journey, an entire separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new life." (Chapter III, pg. 22)

4.1.1. Beautiful Separation from Gateshead

4.2. "I remember but little of the journey; I only know that the day seemed to me of a preternatural length, and that we appeared to travel over hundreds of miles of road. We passed through several towns, and in one, a very large one, the coach stopped; the horses were taken out, and the passengers alighted to dine. I was carried into an inn... [where] I walked about for a long time, feeling very strange, and mortally apprehensive of some one coming in and kidnapping me." (Chapter V, pg. 42)

4.3. "I can remember Miss Temple walking lightly and rapidly along our drooping line, her plaid cloak, which the frosty wind fluttered, gathered close about her, and encouraging us, by precept and example, to keep up our spirits, and march forward, as she said, 'like stalwart soldiers.' The other teachers, poor things, were generally themselves too much dejected to attempt the task of cheering others." (Chapter VII, pg. 64)

4.3.1. Frosty Wind of Life

4.4. "I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which the horizon only bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-guarded walls of our garden: this pleasure consisted in prospect of noble summits girdling a great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow; in a bright beck, full of dark stones and sparkling eddies." (Chapter IX, pg. 82)

4.5. "One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very late with Mary Ann in the wood; we had, as usual, separated ourselves from the others, and had wandered far; so far that we lost our way, and had to ask it at a lonely cottage, where a man and woman lived, who looked after a herd of half-wild swine that fed on the mast in the wood. When we got back, it was after moonrise: a pony, which we knew to be the surgeon's, was standing at the garden door." (Chapter IX, pg. 86)

4.6. "'You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably.' 'Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?' 'Yes; to my long home--my last home.' 'No, no, Helen!' I stopped, distressed. While I tried to devour my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wake the nurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted" (Chapter IX, pg. 89)

4.7. "Our progress was leisurely, and gave me ample time to reflect; I was content to be at length so near the end of my journey; and as I leaned back in the comfortable though not elegant conveyance, I meditated much at my ease." (Chapter XI, pg. 108)

4.7.1. First Conveyance to Thornfield

4.8. "'It appears I come at an inopportune time, madam,' said he, 'when my friend, Mr. Rochester, is from home; but I arrive from a very long journey, and I think I may presume so far on old and intimate acquaintance as to instal [sic] myself here till he returns.'" (Chapter XVIII, pg. 216)

4.9. "What was I to do? Where to go? Oh, intolerable questions, when I could do nothing and go nowhere!--when a long way must yet be measured by my weary, trembling limbs before I could reach human habitation--when cold charity must be entreated before I could get a lodging: reluctant sympathy importuned, almost certain repulse incurred, before my tale could be listened to, or one of my wants relieved!" (Chapter XXVIII, pg. 373)

4.10. "I left Moor House at three o'clock p.m., and soon after four I stood at the foot of the sign-post of Whitcross, waiting the arrival of the coach which was to take me to distant Thornfield. Amidst the silence of those solitary roads and desert hills, I heard it approach from a great distance. It was the same vehicle whence, a year ago, I had alighted one summer evening on this very spot--how desolate, and hopeless, and objectless! It stopped as I beckoned. I entered--not now obliged to part with my whole fortune as the price of its accommodation. Once more on the road to Thornfield, I felt like the messenger-pigeon flying home." (Chapter XXXVI, pg. 490)

4.10.1. Flight Home