He shall never know how I love him.

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.

...I couldn't let go of the thought that it had, in fact, been he, restless and moody Heathcliff. Day after day, he floated through all the Wal-Marts in America, searching for me in a million lonely aisles.

If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.

I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?

Come in! Come in !’ he sobbed.‘Cathy, do come. Oh do -once more! Oh! My heart’s darling! Hear me this time - Catherine, at last!

Nelly, I am Heathcliff - he's always, always in my mind - not as a pleasure, any more then I am always a pleasure to myself - but, as my own being.

What a trajedy to be a martyr for love, yet we worship the characters anyways because they remind us of how we struggled.

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it - and in breaking it, you have broken mine ... I forgive what you have done to me. I love my murderer - but yours! How can I?

Wish and learn to smooth away the surly wrinkles, to raise your lids frankly, and change the fiends to confident, innocent angels, suspecting and doubting nothing, and always seeing friends where they are not sure of foes.