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He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman:
He’ll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to be loved or hated again.
I ‘never told my love’ vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears:
“Why do you love him, Miss Cathy?” “Nonsense, I do—that’s sufficient.” “By no means; you must say why?” “Well, because he is handsome, and pleasant to be with.” “Bad!” was my commentary.
It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. 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.”
WHATEVER OUR SOULS ARE MADE OF, HIS AND MINE ARE THE SAME!!!!
i fucking levitated when i first read this at the tender age of 16 and it still HITS
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.
If I imagined you really wished me to marry Isabel, I’d cut my throat!”
I went about my household duties, convinced that the Grange had but one sensible soul in its walls, and that lodged in my body.
nelly dean is such a diva i love her
But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I’ll keep you. I’ll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won’t rest till you are with me. I never will!”
I don’t want you, Edgar: I’m past wanting you. Return to your books. I’m glad you possess a consolation, for all you had in me is gone.”
You know as well as I do, that for every thought she spends on Linton she spends a thousand on me!
he's a prick but he is correctttttt
If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.
okay i know heathcliff is evil but he reads for filth i have to admit
And now he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish: they did not melt.
Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence!
Heathcliff, dear! You should not be sullen now. Do come to me, Heathcliff.” In her eagerness, she rose and supported herself on the arm of the chair. At that earnest appeal, he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes, wide and wet, at last flashed fiercely on her; his breast heaved convulsively. An instant they held asunder, and then how they met I hardly saw, but Catherine made a spring, and he caught her, and they were locked in an embrace from which I thought my mistress would never be released alive: in fact, to my eyes, she seemed directly insensible. He flung himself into
...more
I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.
Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you—oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?”
And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!”
"i cannot live without my soul" is crazy work emily brontë 10/10
I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death, and flung it back to me.
men in a nutshell
He died true to his character: drunk as a lord.
Heathcliff advanced to the hearth. Time had little altered his person either. There was the same man: his dark face rather sallower and more composed, his frame a stone or two heavier, perhaps, and no other difference.
he’s such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him;
heathcliff roasts again
The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!
