What kind of living will it be when you – Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere...
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.
My love for Heathchiff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
Vain are the thousand creeds That move men’s hearts, unutterably vain; Worthless as withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main.
You have left me so long to struggle against death, alone, that I feel and see only death! I feel like death!
Yes, as my swift days near their goal, ’tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, with courage to endure.
In secret pleasure – secret tears This changeful life has slipped away.
I have fled my country and gone to the heather.
But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm’s length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I’ll rest.
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.
I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing.
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?
Oh, for the time when I shall sleep Without identity.
Earth reserves no blessing For the unblessed of Heaven!
Look on the grave where thou must sleep Thy last, and strongest foe; It is endurance not to weep, If that repose seem woe.
Worthless as wither’d weeds.
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world’s tide is bearing me along; Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.
Still let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.