I Have Lost The Faculty Of Enjoying

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.

Heaven Did Not Seem To Be My Home; And I Broke My Heart With Weeping To Come Back To Earth; And The Angels Were So Angry That They Flung Me Out Into The Middle Of The Heath On The Top Of Wuthering Heights; Where I Woke Sobbing For Joy.

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His And Mine Are The Same.

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.

But There's This One Difference: One Is Gold Put To The Use Of Paving-stones, And The Other Is Tin Polished To Ape A Service Of Silver. Mine Has Nothing Valuable About It; Yet I Shall Have The Merit Of Making It Go As Far As Such Poor Stuff Can Go. His Had First-rate Qualities, And They Are Lost, Rendered Worst Than Unavailing.