The Return of the Native

by Thomas Hardy

"A fair stave, Grandfer Cantle; but I am afeard 'tis too much for the mouldy weasand of such a old man as you,"

probably the best insult in the history of insults

Eustacia Vye was the raw material of a divinity. On Olympus she would have done well with a little preparation.

To be loved to madness—such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days.

you are not the whole world to me that you used to be, my dear. But you are a pleasant lady to know and nice to meet, and I dare say as sweet as ever—almost."

She was at the modulating point between indifference and love, at the stage called "having a fancy for." It occurs once in the history of the most gigantic passions, and it is a period when they are in the hands of the weakest will.

Take all the varying hates felt by Eustacia Vye towards the heath, and translate them into loves, and you have the heart of Clym.

"What, would you exchange with him—your fortune for me?" "I certainly would,"