“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.”

If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years as I could in a day.

Honest people don’t hide their deeds.

Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.

I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it.

He was attached by ties stronger than reason could break — chains, forged by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to loosen.

I have to remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat!

Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.

Shall Earth no more inspire thee, Thou lonely dreamer now?

Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy.

The old church tower and garden wall Are black with autumn rain And dreary winds foreboding call The darkness down again.

My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world’s tide is bearing me along; Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.

May you not rest, as long as I am living. You said I killed you – haunt me, then.

She burned too bright for this world.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be — that proves I love him better than myself.

Nobody knows if Zidane is an angel or demon. He smiles like Saint Teresa and grimaces like a serial killer.

You have actually waltzed with tremendous style, my sweet, O my sweet, crushed angel.

Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain, /May be refin’d and join th’ angelic train.

May be refined, and join the angelic train.

He was the keynote speaker for our better angels.

I was a shy ugly kid who led a big fantasy life. I thought I was an angel sent from heaven, to cure polio. When Dr. Salk did that I was really pissed off.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

If you’re not okay, you might as well not pretend you are, especially since life has a way of holding us down until we utter that magic word: help! That’s when angels rush to your side.