He Might As Well Plant

I Love The Ground Under His Feet, And The Air Over His Head, And Everything He Touches And Every Word He Says. I Love All His Looks, And All His Actions And Him Entirely And All Together.

It Is For God To Punish Wicked People; We Should Learn To Forgive.

A Heaven So Clear, An Earth So Calm, So Sweet, So Soft, So Hushed An Air; And, Deepening Still The Dreamlike Charm, Wild Moor-sheep Feeding Everywhere.

I Shouldn't Care What You Suffered. I Care Nothing For Your Sufferings. Why Shouldn't You Suffer? I Do! Will You Forget Me? Will You Be Happy When I Am In The Earth? Will You Say Twenty Years Hence, "that's The Grave Of Catherine Earnshaw? I Loved Her Long Ago, And Was Wretched To Lose Her; But It Is Past. I've Loved Many Others Since: My Children Are Dearer To Me Than She Was; And, At Death, I Shall Not Rejoice That I Am Going To Her: I Shall Be Sorry That I Must Leave Them!" Will You Say So, Heathcliff?

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