Important Quotations Explained
1. But
Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style
of living. He is a dark-skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners
a gentleman, that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire:
rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence,
because he has an erect and handsome figure—and rather morose. Possibly,
some people might suspect him of a degree of under-bred pride; I
have a sympathetic chord within that tells me it is nothing of the
sort: I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an aversion
to showy displays of feeling—to manifestations of mutual kindliness.
He'll love and hate, equally under cover, and esteem it a species
of impertinence to be loved or hated again—No, I'm running on too
fast—I bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him.
2. The
ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled
up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the
paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in
all kinds of characters, large and small—Catherine Earnshaw, here
and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine
Linton. In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window,
and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw—Heathcliff—Linton,
till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a
glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres—the
air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive
name, I discovered my candle wick reclining on one of the antique
volumes, and perfum-ing the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin.
3. It
would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know
how I love him; and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but
because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made
of, his and mine are the same, and [Edgar's] is as different as
a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.
4. “.
. . I got the sexton, who was digging Linton's grave, to remove
the earth off her coffin lid, and I opened it. I thought, once,
I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again—it is hers
yet—he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change, if
the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose,
and covered it up—not Linton's side, damn him! I wish he'd been
soldered in lead—and I bribed the sexton to pull it away, when I'm
laid there, and slide mine out too. I'll have it made so, and then,
by the time Linton gets to us, he'll not know which is which!” “You were
very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!” I exclaimed; “were you not ashamed
to disturb the dead?”
5. That,
however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination,
is actually the least, for what is not connected with her to me?
and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor,
but her features are shaped on the flags! In every cloud, in every
tree—filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object
by day, I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces
of men and women—my own features—mock me with a resemblance. The
entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did
exist, and that I have lost her!
