Good words," I replied. "But deeds must prove it also; and after he is well, remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear.
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It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing,’ she muttered.
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I'd be glad of a retaliation that wouldn't recoil on myself; but treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends: they wound those who resort to them, worse than their enemies.
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He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!
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He’s more myself than I am
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I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words?
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The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.
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If I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it.
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Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous
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And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory’s rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again?
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No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere...
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A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.
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They forgot everything the minute they were together again.
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Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me.
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But I begin to fancy you don't like me. How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me. (Catherine Linton, nee Earnshaw)
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And from the midst of cheerless gloom I passed to bright unclouded day.
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Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips.
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By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
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Existence, after losing her, would be hell
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How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling.
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You said I killed you-haunt me, then! [...] Be with me always-take any form-drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!
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I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing.
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He'll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence to loved or hated again.
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But you might as well bid a man struggling in the water, rest within arm's length of the shore! I must reach it first, and then I'll rest.
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You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
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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.
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If I were in heaven, Nelly, I should be extremely miserable." "Because you are not fit to go there," I answered. "All sinners would be miserable in heaven.
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I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!
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Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free... and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed?
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How strange! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me.
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I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be — that proves I love him better than myself.
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Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
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Love is like the wild rose-briar; Friendship like the holly-tree. The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms, but which will bloom most constantly?
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May you not rest, as long as I am living. You said I killed you - haunt me, then.
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What kind of living will it be when you - Oh, God! Would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
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I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
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Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire
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