How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.

You have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties, for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles.

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?

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

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

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

I shouldn't care what you suffered. I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? I do! Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, "That's the grave of Catherine Earnshaw? I loved her long ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is past. I've loved many others since: my children are dearer to me than she was; and, at death, I shall not rejoice that I am going to her: I shall be sorry that I must leave them!" Will you say so, Heathcliff?