Whatever Our Souls Are Made

He Turned, As He Spoke, A Peculiar Look In Her Direction, A Look Of Hatred Unless He Has A Most Perverse Set Of Facial Muscles That Will Not, Like Those Of Other People, Interpret The Language Of His Soul.

Every Leaf Speaks Bliss To Me, Fluttering From The Autumn Tree.

Heaven Did Not Seem To Be My Home; And I Broke My Heart With Weeping To Come Back To Earth; And The Angels Were So Angry That They Flung Me Out Into The Middle Of The Heath On The Top Of Wuthering Heights; Where I Woke Sobbing For Joy.

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

Time Brought Resignation And A Melancholy Sweeter Than Common Joy.