But You Might As Well Bid A

Any Relic Of The Dead Is Precious, If They Were Valued Living.

He Turned, As He Spoke, A Peculiar Look In Her Direction, A Look Of Hatred Unless He Has A Most Perverse Set Of Facial Muscles That Will Not, Like Those Of Other People, Interpret The Language Of His Soul.

I Wish I Were A Girl Again, Half-savage And Hardy, And Free.

He Leant His Two Elbows On His Knees, And His Chin On His Hands And Remained Rapt In Dumb Meditation. On My Inquiring The Subject Of His Thoughts, He Answered Gravely 'i'm Trying To Settle How I Shall Pay Hindley Back. I Don't Care How Long I Wait, If I Can Only Do It At Last. I Hope He Will Not Die Before I Do!' 'for Shame, Heathcliff!' Said I. 'it Is For God To Punish Wicked People; We Should Learn To Forgive.' 'no, God Won’t Have The Satisfaction That I Shall,' He Returned. 'i Only Wish I Knew The Best Way! Let Me Alone, And I'll Plan It Out: While I'm Thinking Of That I Don't Feel Pain.

Thoughts Are Tyrants That Return Again And Again To Torment Us.