You teach me now how cruel you’ve been — cruel and false! Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight you — they’ll damn you. You loved me — then what right had you to leave me? What right — answer me — for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart — you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me, that I am strong. Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you——oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?
The love-relationship of Heathcliff and Catherine in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights has become an archetype; it expresses the passionate longing to be whole, to give oneself unreservedly to another and gain a whole self or sense of identity back, to be all-in-all for each other, so that nothing else in the world matters, and to be loved in this way forever. This type of passion-love can be summed up in the phrase more–and still more , for it is insatiable, unfulfillable, and unrelenting in its demands upon both lovers.
Wuthering Heights and the Brontë sisters fascinate me – even though Wuthering Heights is the only novel I fully like out of all the sisters writing – because they lived in the very same village my family originate from – Haworth on the remote West Yorkshire moors. In the village church the Brontë’s father curated you will see a huge amount of headstones with layers of Whitaker’s, my grandmothers family. Incidentally they were also the village bakers and apparently my great, great grandfather used to supply the Brontë’s with their bread!