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.

Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.

Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?

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

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?

What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?

I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.