Proud People Breed Sad Sorrows For Themselves.

She Burned Too Bright For This World.

My Love For Heathcliff Resembles The Eternal Rocks Beneath: A Source Of Little Visible Delight, But Necessary.

Cold Inthe Earthand The Deepsnow Piled Abovethee, Far, Far, Removed, Cold In The Dreary Grave! Have I Forgot, My Only Love, To Love Thee, Severed At Last Bytime's All-serving Wave?

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'll Walk Where My Own Nature Would Be Leading: It Vexes Me To Choose Another Guide: Where The Grey Flocks In Ferny Glens Are Feeding; Where The Wild Wind Blows On The Mountain-side.