Good words," I replied. "But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.

That is how I'm loved! Well, never mind. That is not my Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me: he's in my soul.

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

It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.

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

The Lord help us!' he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.

Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.