"To what end there, if I were all contained in myself?
If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be; and, if all else persisted and he was annihilated, the universe would be alien to me, I do not seem to be a part.
My love for Linton is like the foliage of the woods: time will transform I'm sure, as winter changes the trees.
But my love for Heathcliff resembles the hidden rocks and immutable source of little visible delight, but necessary.
I am he, he is always, always in my mind, not as a pleasure, as I'm not always a pleasure for me, but as my own being. "
Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
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