They forgot everything the minute they were together again.

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

I lingered round them, under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.

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.

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

He... was attached by ties stronger than reason could break -- chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen.

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