But You Might As Well

Any Relic Of The Dead Is Precious, If They Were Valued Living.

How Strange! I Thought, Though Everybody Hated And Despised Each Other, They Could Not Avoid Loving Me.

Still Let My Tyrants Know, I Am Not Doomed To Wear Year After Year In Gloom, And Desolate Despair; A Messenger Of Hope Comes Every Night To Me, And Offers For Short Life, Eternal Liberty.

Your Presence Is A Moral Poison That Would Contaminate The Most Virtuous

My Love For Heathcliff Resembles The Eternal Rocks Beneath: A Source Of Little Visible Delight, But Necessary.