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, (...)a source of little visible delight, but necessary. (...) 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...
from the book "Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontė
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