Worthless As Wither'd Weeds.

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.

But There's This One Difference: One Is Gold Put To The Use Of Paving-stones, And The Other Is Tin Polished To Ape A Service Of Silver. Mine Has Nothing Valuable About It; Yet I Shall Have The Merit Of Making It Go As Far As Such Poor Stuff Can Go. His Had First-rate Qualities, And They Are Lost, Rendered Worst Than Unavailing.

I'm Wearying To Escape Into That Glorious World, And To Be Always There; Not Seeing It Dimly Through Tears, And Yearning For It Through The Walls Of An Aching Heart; But Really With It, And In It.

I Have No Pity! I Have No Pity! The More Worms Writhe, The More I Yearn To Crush Out Their Entrails! It Is A Moral Teething, And I Grind With Greater Energy, In Proportion To The Increase Of Pain.

He... Was Attached By Ties Stronger Than Reason Could Break -- Chains, Forged By Habit, Which It Would Be Cruel To Attempt To Loosen.