“It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It's like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting "Cathy" and banging your head against a tree.”
“Matt is a tortured soul,' Amanda insisted. 'He's Heathcliff and you're Cathy. He's Rochester and you're Jane Eyre. He's-''Darcy and I'm Elizabeth. I get it. And you're wrong.”
“And if you call me your fucking minder, I’ll put your pretty blond head through that wall and use your arse as a guitar stand. ‘Fair enough?”
“So drop the Mr. Rochester-Mr. Darcy-Heathcliff British stuck-uppity and treat her like the treasure she is”
“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!”
“My soul, be satisfied with flowers,With fruit, with weeds even; but gather themIn the one garden you may call your own.”