No Coward Soul Is Mine.

Tis Moonlight, Summer Moonlight, All Soft And Still And Fair; The Solemn Hour Of Midnight Breathes Sweet Thoughts Everywhere, But Most Where Trees Are Sending Their Breezy Boughs On High, Or Stooping Low Are Lending A Shelter From The Sky. And There In Those Wild Bowers A Lovely Form Is Laid; Green Grass And Dew-steeped Flowers Wave Gently Round Her Head.

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?

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His And Mine Are The Same.

Thoughts Are Tyrants That Return Again And Again To Torment Us.

But You Might As Well Bid A Man Struggling In The Water, Rest Within Arm's Length Of The Shore! I Must Reach It First, And Then I'll Rest.