Proud People Breed Sad Sorrows For Themselves.

The Clock Strikes Off The Hollow Half-hours Of All The Life That Is Left To You, One By One.

No Coward Soul Is Mine, No Trembler In The World's Storm-troubled Sphere.

It Is Astonishing How Sociable I Feel Myself Compared With Him.

Cathy, This Lamb Of Yours Threatens Like A Bull!' He Said. 'it Is In Danger Of Splitting Its Skull Against My Knuckles. By God! Mr. Linton, I'm Mortally Sorry That You Are Not Worth Knocking Down!

I'll Walk Where My Own Nature Would Be Leading: It Vexes Me To Choose Another Guide: Where The Grey Flocks In Ferny Glens Are Feeding; Where The Wild Wind Blows On The Mountain-side.