Emily Brontë

I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind. And this is one: I'm going to tell it - but take care not to smile at any part of it.

Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?

He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

Good words," I replied. "But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.

If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave.

You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you. You loved me - what right had you to leave me? What right - answer me - for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have no broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! would you like to lie with your soul in the grave?

The clock strikes off the hollow half-hours of all the life that is left to you, one by one.

The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads and revealed their faces, animated with the eager interest of children; for, though he was twenty-three and she eighteen, each had so much of novelty to feel, and learn, that neither experienced nor evinced the sentiments of sober disenchanted maturity.

Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.

I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.

But I begin to fancy you don't like me. How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me. (Catherine Linton, nee Earnshaw)

It__ no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,_ she muttered.

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;Lengthen night and shorten day;Every leaf speaks bliss to meFluttering from the autumn tree.I shall smile when wreaths of snowBlossom where the rose should grow;I shall sing when night__ decayUshers in a drearier day.

In the first place, his startling likeness to Catherine, connected him fearfully with her. That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least _ for what is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every tree _ filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object, by day I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men, and women _ my own features mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!

You loved me-then what right had you to leave me? What right-answer me-for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart- you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine."~Heathcliff

No coward soul is mine,No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:I see heaven's glories shine,And faith shines equal, arming me from fear

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,And even Despair was powerless to destroy,Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy;Then did I check the tears of useless passion,Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;Sternly denied its burning wish to hastenDown to that tomb already more than mine!And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,How could I seek the empty world again?

You shall not leave me in that temper.I should be miserable all night, and I won__ be miserable for you!