Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
Submitted by earthtojennifer 7 months ago
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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.
Submitted by LibrarianCarina over 2 years ago
I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and hare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath:—a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me,
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
Submitted by pandorasinbox over 2 years ago