There is a level of comfort in reading the classics. When my life becomes stressful and overwhelming, I find that I seek the classics as I would seek the counsel of a good friend. My mother died one month ago, and during her last week of life, I read aloud to her from Jane Eyre, her favorite novel. I admit I had to stop because I found the beginning to be too sad. However, after a few heart-wrenching days, I went back to the novel because I wanted to learn why my mother loved it so much. She must have seen something of herself in Jane, having lost her own mother at four years old, and then being raised by her grandparents. Jane is a busy person, never bored, always something to read, study, or work on. She did not spend her time idly, looking out the window or complaining of boredom. My mother was very much the same: always busy, never bored. While some modern readers might feel the story is dated or coincidental, I see the beauty in the writing, the impressive diction and sentence structure. As an aspiring author, I learned from studying Bronte’s craft, and as a daughter, I learned something about my mother from reading Jane Eyre.