I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of creation if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning; my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the Universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees — my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath — a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff — he's always, always in my mind — not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself — but as my own being — so, don't talk of our separation again — it is impracticable.

He kissed her palm again, and again the skin on the back of her neck crawled excitingly. 'But you do like me. Could you ever love me, Scarlett?' 'Ah!' she thought, triumphantly. 'Now I've got him!' and she answered with studied coolness: 'Indeed, no. That is not unless you mended your manners considerably.' 'And I have no intention of mending them. So you could not love me? That is as I hoped. For while I like you immensely, I do not love you and it would be tragic indeed for you to suffer twice for unrequited love, wouldn't it, dear? May I call you "dear", Mrs. Hamilton? I shall call you "dear" whether you like it or not, so no matter, but the proprieties must be observed.' 'You don't love me?' 'No, indeed. Did you hope that I did?' 'Don't be so presumptuous.' 'You hoped! Alas, to blight your hopes! I should love you, for you are charming and talented at many useless accomplishments. But many ladies have charm and accomplishments and are just as useless as you are. No, I don't love you. But I do like you tremendously - for the elasticity of your conscience, for the selfishness which you seldom trouble to hide, and for the shrewd practicality in you which, I fear, you get from some not too remote Irish-peasant ancestor.' Peasant! Why, he was insulting her! She began to splutter wordlessly. 'Don't interrupt,' he begged, squeezing her hand. 'I like you because I have those same qualities in me and like begets liking. I realise you still cherish the memory of the godlike and wooden-headed Mr. Wilkes, who's probably been in his grave these six months. but there must be room in your heart for me too. Scarlett, do stop wriggling! I am making you a declaration. I have wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you, in the hall at Twelve Oaks, when you were bewitching poor Charlie Hamilton. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman - and I've waited longer for you than I've ever waited for any woman.'

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh.

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile---her look---her way Of speaking gently,---for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'--- For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may Be changed, or change for thee,---and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--- A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

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