Look On The Grave Where Thou Must

It Is Hard To Forgive, And To Look At Those Eyes, And Feel Those Wasted Hands,' He Answered. 'kiss Me Again; And Don’t Let Me See Your Eyes! I Forgive What You Have Done To Me. I Love My Murderer—but Yours! How Can I?

Yet I Was A Fool To Fancy For A Moment That She Valued Edgar Linton's Attachment More Than Mine -- If He Love With All The Powers Of His Puny Being, He Couldn't Love As Much In Eighty Years, As I Could In A Day. And Catherine Has A Heart As Deep As I Have; The Sea Could Be As Readily Contained In That Horse-trough, As Her Whole Affection Be Monopolized By Him -- Tush! He Is Scarcely A Degree Dearer To Her Than Her Dog, Or Her Horse -- It Is Not In Him To Be Loved Like Me, How Can She Love In Him What He Has Not?

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His And Mine Are The Same; And Linton's Is As Different As A Moonbeam From Lightning, Or Frost From Fire

I Have Lost The Faculty Of Enjoying Their Destruction, And I Am Too Idle To Destroy For Nothing.

How Strange! I Thought, Though Everybody Hated And Despised Each Other, They Could Not Avoid Loving Me.