Emily Brontë

I believe I may assert that they were really in possession of deep and growing happiness. It ended. Well, we must be for ourselves in the long run; the mild and generous are only more justly selfish than the domineering- and it ended when circumstances caused each to feel that the one's interest was not in the chief consideration in the other's thoughts.

Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you--haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe--I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,Dare not indulge in memory__ rapturous pain;Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,How could I seek the empty world again?

I__l not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!

Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it - and in breaking it, you have broken mine ... I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?

I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?

... I love him... not because he's handsome... but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same...

When I asked her what was the matter? answered, she didn't know; but she felt so afraid of dying!

For the space of half a year, the gunpowder lay as harmless as sand, because no fire came near to explode it.

As different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.

Their eyes are precisely similar, and they are those of Catherine Earnshaw.

However miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery.

The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him, they crush those beneath them.

He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, 'Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!

I'd be glad of a retaliation that wouldn't recoil on myself; but treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends: they wound those who resort to them, worse than their enemies.

She burned too bright for this world.

And I am weary of the anguishIncreasing winters bear;Weary to watch the spirit languishThrough years of dead despair.So, if a tear, when thou art dying,Should haply fall from me,It is but that my soul is sighing,To go and rest with thee.