“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.” — Emily Brontë Copy Share Image
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… — Emily Bronte Copy Share Image
He is more myself than I am. Whatever our two souls are made of, his and mine are the same. — Emily Bronte Copy Share
I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night's decay Ushers in a drearier day. — Emily Brontë Copy Share
My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will changeit,I'mwellaware, aswinterchangesthetrees. My Love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneatha… — Emily Bronte Copy Share
“I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I… — Emily Brontë Copy Share
The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her. — Emily Bronte Copy Share
“Papa talks enough of my defects, and shows enough scorn of me, to make it natural I should doubt myself. I doubt whether I… — Emily Brontë Copy Share
The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most… — Emily Bronte Copy Share
“It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?” — Emily Brontë Copy Share
I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing. — Emily Bronte Copy Share
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. — Emily Bronte Copy Share
Tis moonlight, summer moonlight, All soft and still and fair; The solemn hour of midnight Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere, But most where trees are… — Emily Bronte Copy Share
“It expressed, plainer than words could do, the intense anguish at having made himself the instrument of thwarting his own revenge. Had it been… — Emily Brontë Copy Share
