1 He was in earnest: in love, really.
2 Mrs. Earnshaw loved the music, and so they gave us plenty.
3 I love all his looks, and all his actions, and him entirely and altogether.
4 You must try to love him, as you did your mother, and then he will love you.
5 It was a marvellous effort of perspicacity to discover that I did not love her.
6 Her brother, who loved her tenderly, was appalled at this fantastic preference.
7 You can feel in yourself it is impossible that a person should die for love of a stranger.
8 He pines for kindness, as well as love; and a kind word from you would be his best medicine.
9 My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
10 Catherine loved it too: but she said it sounded sweetest at the top of the steps, and she went up in the dark: I followed.
11 He recalled her memory with ardent, tender love, and hopeful aspiring to the better world; where he doubted not she was gone.
12 Mr. Heathcliff you have nobody to love you; and, however miserable you make us, we shall still have the revenge of thinking that your cruelty arises from your greater misery.
13 One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years.
14 Your brother will be pleased; the old lady and gentleman will not object, I think; you will escape from a disorderly, comfortless home into a wealthy, respectable one; and you love Edgar, and Edgar loves you.
15 I love him better than myself, Ellen; and I know it by this: I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be: that proves I love him better than myself.
16 In the first place, he had by that time lost the benefit of his early education: continual hard work, begun soon and concluded late, had extinguished any curiosity he once possessed in pursuit of knowledge, and any love for books or learning.
17 That capacity for intense attachments reminded me of her mother: still she did not resemble her: for she could be soft and mild as a dove, and she had a gentle voice and pensive expression: her anger was never furious; her love never fierce: it was deep and tender.
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