Book: Wuthering heights. Page 2

But in his grief he was inconsolable: his sorrow was of that kind that will not lament. He neither wept nor prayed - he cursed and countval: cursed of God and man, and indulged in unbridled fun, to dissipate.

He had room in his heart only for two idols - his wife and himself: he was worn with both, and adored one of them, and I couldn't imagine how he will survive the loss.

Do you see these two small lines between eyebrows? And those thick brows that, instead of them to climb the arc, fall down the nose bridge? See you this pair of black imps, so deeply sharonensis? They never open the Windows boldly, but only look at them furtively, like a spy of the devil! So wish and learn to smooth out the surly wrinkles, to raise safely eyelids; change imps on unsuspecting, innocent angels, staring without suspicion, without fear, and always seeing each other when you do not know that they face the enemy. Don't look you naughty puppy that knows that gets kicks on merit, and still angry over their grievances to someone who gives a pinky, and the whole world.

Fear made me cruel.

And don't you fear, whenever you mention the devil, it may drag you alive? You're better than me don't bother, man, or I'll ask your abduction as a special grace, and he will take you.

He love it and hate it and will secretly'll consider for impudence, if he be loved or hated.

I'm too happy; and yet I am happy enough.

One hoped, the other gave himself up to despair: each of them chose his own share.

The joy is so great that I wonder if it will be true!

Who did not do until ten in the morning half his day's work, runs the risk not to cope with their other half.

... sometimes we have pity for those who are not able to spare neither himself nor others.

Their happiness ended when circumstances caused each to feel that his interests to another is not the most important thing.

If it's cold, I'll think it's cold to me, that permeates me and the wind, and when it is stationary, I would say that this is a dream...