My Love For Heathcliff Resembles The Eternal

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.

The Intense Horror Of Nightmare Came Over Me: I Tried To Draw Back My Arm, But The Hand Clung To It, And A Most Melancholy Voice Sobbed, 'let Me In - Let Me In!' 'who Are You?' I Asked, Struggling, Meanwhile, To Disengage Myself. 'catherine Linton,' It Replied, Shiveringly (why Did I Think Of Linton? I Had Read Earnshaw Twenty Times For Linton) - 'i'm Come Home: I'd Lost My Way On The Moor!' As It Spoke, I Discerned, Obscurely, A Child's Face Looking Through The Window.

I Love The Ground Under His Feet, And The Air Over His Head, And Everything He Touches And Every Word He Says. I Love All His Looks, And All His Actions And Him Entirely And All Together.

He... Was Attached By Ties Stronger Than Reason Could Break -- Chains, Forged By Habit, Which It Would Be Cruel To Attempt To Loosen.

It Was Not The Thorn Bending To The Honeysuckles, But The Honeysuckles Embracing The Thorn.