Any Relic Of The Dead Is Precious,

If He Loved With All The Powers Of His Puny Being, He Couldn't Love As Much In Eighty Years As I Could In A Day.

Heaven Did Not Seem To Be My Home; And I Broke My Heart With Weeping To Come Back To Earth; And The Angels Were So Angry That They Flung Me Out Into The Middle Of The Heath On The Top Of Wuthering Heights; Where I Woke Sobbing For Joy.

He Turned, As He Spoke, A Peculiar Look In Her Direction, A Look Of Hatred Unless He Has A Most Perverse Set Of Facial Muscles That Will Not, Like Those Of Other People, Interpret The Language Of His Soul.

Are You Acquainted With The Mood Of Mind In Which, If You Were Seated Alone, And The Cat Licking Its Kitten On The Rug Before You, You Would Watch The Operation So Intently That Puss's Neglect Of One Ear Would Put You Seriously Out Of Temper?

My Love For Heathcliff Resembles The Eternal Rocks Beneath: A Source Of Little Visible Delight, But Necessary.