Any Relic Of The Dead Is Precious,

Riches I Hold In Light Esteem, And Love I Laugh To Scorn, And Lust Of Fame Was But A Dream That Vanished With The Morn. And If I Pray, The Only Prayer That Moves My Lips For Me Is, 'leave The Heart That Now I Bear, And Give Me Liberty!' Yes, As My Swift Days Near Their Goal, 'tis All That I Implore - In Life And Death, A Chainless Soul, With Courage To Endure.

Honest People Don't Hide Their Deeds.

I Never Told My Love Vocally Still.

We Must Be For Ourselves In The Long Run; The Mild And Generous Are Only More Justly Selfish Than The Domineering.

The Intense Horror Of Nightmare Came Over Me: I Tried To Draw Back My Arm, But The Hand Clung To It, And A Most Melancholy Voice Sobbed, 'let Me In - Let Me In!' 'who Are You?' I Asked, Struggling, Meanwhile, To Disengage Myself. 'catherine Linton,' It Replied, Shiveringly (why Did I Think Of Linton? I Had Read Earnshaw Twenty Times For Linton) - 'i'm Come Home: I'd Lost My Way On The Moor!' As It Spoke, I Discerned, Obscurely, A Child's Face Looking Through The Window.