You loved me-then what right had you to leave me? What right-answer me-for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery and degradation, and death, and nothing that 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."
~Heathcliff
Tag: unrequited-love broken-hearted
powiedziałam mu, że jego niebo byłoby mdłe i nudne, a on odparł, że moje byłoby pijane.
Emily BrontëTag: wuthering-heights
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.
Emily BrontëNunca le declaré abiertamente mi amor, pero si las miradas hablan, el más tonto habría podido advertir que me tenía trastornado el juicio.
Emily BrontëI got the sexton, who was digging Linton’s grave, to remove the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again—it is hers yet—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change, if the air blew on it...
Emily BrontëTag: death heathcliff corpse catherine cemetery
Mi cariño a Heathcliff es como son las rocas del fondo de la tierra, que permanecen eternamente iguales sin cambiar jamás. Es un afecto del que no puedo prescindir.
Emily BrontëIt would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. 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.
Emily BrontëHindley, with apparently the stronger head, has shown himself sadly the worse and weaker man ... One hoped, the other despaired: they chose their own lots, and were righteously doomed to endure them.
Emily BrontëYou must forgive me, for I struggled only for you.
Emily BrontëA 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 now
What 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 lane
That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of 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.
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