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. — Emily Bronte Copy Share Image
He had the hypocrisy to represent a mourner: and previous to following with Hareton, he lifted the unfortunate child on to the table and muttered, with peculiar gusto, 'Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we'll see if one… — 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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her. — Emily Bronte Copy Share Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?” — Emily Brontë Copy Share Image
I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing. — Emily Bronte Copy Share Image
