And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.

You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me, And I cannot, cannot go.

My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.

The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. 'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window.

wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers, for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

I'll be as dirty as I please, and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty!