“LinesI die but when the grave shall pressThe heart so long endeared to theeWhen earthy cares no more distressAnd earthy joys are nought to me.Weep not, but think that I have pastBefore thee o'er the sea of gloom.Have anchored safe and rest at lastWhere tears and mouring can not come.'Tis I should weep to leave thee hereOn that dark ocean sailing drearWith storms around and fears beforeAnd no kind light to point the shore.But long or short though life may be'Tis nothing to eternity.We part below to meet on highWhere blissful ages never die.”

“A LITTLE while, a little while,The weary task is put away,And I can sing and I can smile,Alike, while I have holiday.Where wilt thou go, my harassed heart--What thought, what scene invites thee nowWhat spot, or near or far apart,Has rest for thee, my weary brow?There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,Where winter howls, and driving rain;But, if the dreary tempest chills,There is a light that warms again.The house is old, the trees are bare,Moonless above bends twilight's dome;But what on earth is half so dear--So longed for--as the hearth of home?The mute bird sitting on the stone,The dank moss dripping from the wall,The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,I love them--how I love them all!Still, as I mused, the naked room,The alien firelight died away;And from the midst of cheerless gloom,I passed to bright, unclouded day.A little and a lone green laneThat opened on a common wide;A distant, dreamy, dim blue chainOf mountains circling every side.A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;And, deepening still the dream-like charm,Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.THAT was the scene, I knew it well;I knew the turfy pathway's sweep,That, winding o'er each billowy swell,Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.Could I have lingered but an hour,It well had paid a week of toil;But Truth has banished Fancy's power:Restraint and heavy task recoil.Even as I stood with raptured eye,Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,My hour of rest had fleeted by,And back came labour, bondage, care.”

“He leant his two elbows on his knees, and his chin on his hands and remained rapt in dumb meditation. On my inquiring the subject of his thoughts, he answered gravely 'I'm trying to settle how I shall pay Hindley back. I don't care how long I wait, if I can only do it at last. I hope he will not die before I do!''For shame, Heathcliff!' said I. 'It is for God to punish wicked people; we should learn to forgive.''No, God won’t have the satisfaction that I shall,' he returned. 'I only wish I knew the best way! Let me alone, and I'll plan it out: while I'm thinking of that I don't feel pain.”

“Why did you betray your own heart Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. ... You loved me - then what right had you to leave me? Because ... nothing God or satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong. 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? [...] I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?”

“When weary with the long day’s care,And earthly change from pain to pain,And lost, and ready to despair,Thy kind voice calls me back againO my true friend, I am not loneWhile thou canst speak with such a tone!So hopeless is the world without,The world within I doubly prize;Thy world where guile and hate and doubtAnd cold suspicion never rise;Where thou and I and LibertyHave undisputed sovereignty.What matters it that all aroundDanger and grief and darkness lie,If but within our bosom’s boundWe hold a bright unsullied sky,Warm with ten thousand mingled raysOf suns that know no winter days?Reason indeed may oft complainFor Nature’s sad reality,And tell the suffering heart how vainIts cherished dreams must always be;And Truth may rudely trample downThe flowers of Fancy newly blown.But thou art ever there to bringThe hovering visions back and breatheNew glories o’er the blighted springAnd call a lovelier life from death,And whisper with a voice divineOf real worlds as bright as thine.I trust not to thy phantom bliss,Yet still in evening’s quiet hourWith never-failing thankfulness Iwelcome thee, benignant power,Sure solacer of human caresAnd brighter hope when hope despairs.”

“You fight against that devil for love as long as you may; when the time comes, not all the angels in heaven shall save him!”

“And there you see the distinction between our feelings: had he been in my place, and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. You may look incredulous, if you please! I never would have banished him from her society as long as she desired his. The moment her regard ceased, I would have torn his heart out and drank his blood! But, till then - if you don't believe me, you don't know me - til then, I would have died by inches before I touched a single hair on his head!”