Clippings

Frank, Anne - The Diary of a Young Girl (ajaabh@gmail.
com)
- Bookmark Loc. 746 | Added on Friday, 9 November 12 16:03:03 Greenwich Mean Time
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Frank, Anne - The Diary of a Young Girl (ajaabh@gmail.com)
- Highlight Loc. 747-49 | Added on Friday, 9 November 12 16:03:39 Greenwich Mean
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I'm no longer satisfied with the meaningless affection or the supposedly serious
talks. I long for something from Father that he's incapable of giving. I'm not
jealous of Margot; I never have been. I'm not envious of her brains or her beauty.
It's just that I'd like to feel that Father really loves me, not because I'm his
child, but because I'm me, Anne.
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- Highlight Loc. 883 | Added on Friday, 9 November 12 16:49:50 Greenwich Mean Time
Really, it's not easy being the badly brought-up center of attention of a family of
nitpickers.
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I'm seething with rage, yet I can't show it. I'd like to scream, stamp my foot,
give Mother a good shaking, cry and I don't know what else because of the nasty
words, mocking looks and accusations that she hurls at me day after day, piercing
me like arrows from a tightly strung bow, which are nearly impossible to pull from
my body. I'd like to scream at Mother, Margot, the van Daans, Dussel and Father
too: "Leave me alone, let me have at least one night when I don't cry myself to
sleep with my eyes burning and my head pounding. Let me get away, away from
everything, away from this world!" But I can't do that. I can't let them see my
doubts, or the wounds they've inflicted on me. I couldn't bear their sympathy or
their good-humored derision. It would only make me want to scream even more.
Everyone thinks I'm showing off when I talk, ridicu lous when I'm silent, insolent
when I answer, cunning when I have a good idea, lazy when I'm tired, selfish when I
eat one bite more than I should, stupid, cowardly, calculating, etc., etc. All day
long I hear nothing but what an exasperating child I am, and although I laugh it
off and pretend not to mind, I do mind. I wish I could ask God to give me another
personality, one that doesn't antagonize everyone. But that's impossible. I'm stuck
with the character I was born with, and yet I'm sure I'm not a bad person. I do my
best to please everyone, more than they'd ever suspect in a million years. When I'm
upstairs, I try to laugh it off because I don't want them to see my troubles. More
than once, after a series of absurd reproaches, I've snapped at Mother: "I don't
care what you say. Why don't you just wash your hands of me -- I'm a hopeless
case." Of course, she'd tell me not to talk back and virtually ignore me for two
days. Then suddenly all would be forgotten and she'd treat me like everyone else.
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- Bookmark Loc. 2925 | Added on Sunday, 11 November 12 09:00:17 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 2926-27 | Added on Sunday, 11 November 12 09:01:08 Greenwich Mean
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When the invasion comes and the bombs start falling, it'll be every man for
himself, but this time we feared for those good, innocent Christians who are
helping us. "We've been saved, keep on saving us!" That's all we can say.
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When I was having problems, everyone -- and that includes you --closed their eyes
and ears and didn't help me. On the contrary, all I ever got were admonitions not
to be so noisy.
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The British are not about to offer their excuses; true, they were sleeping during
the years Germany was rearming itself, but all the other countries, especially
those bordering on Germany, were asleep too. England and the rest of the world have
discovered that burying your head in the sand doesn't work, and now each of them,
especially England, is having to pay a heavy price for its ostrich policy.
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To be honest, I can't imagine how anyone could say "I'm weak" and then stay that
way. If you know that about yourself, why not fight it, why not develop your
character? Their answer has always been: "Because it's much easier not to!" This
reply leaves me feeling rather discouraged. Easy? Does that mean a life of deceit
and laziness is easy too? Oh no, that can't be true. It can't be true that people
are so readily tempted by ease. . . and money. I've given a lot of thought to what
my answer should be, to how I should get Peter to believe in himself and, most of
all, to change himself for the better.
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Great Expectations (Charles Dickens)
- Bookmark Loc. 398 | Added on Monday, 12 November 12 12:55:46 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 402-5 | Added on Monday, 12 November 12 12:56:05 Greenwich Mean
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I was always treated as if I had insisted on being born in opposition to the

dictates of reason, religion, and morality, and against the dissuading arguments of
my best friends. Even when I was taken to have a new suit of clothes, the tailor
had orders to make them like a kind of Reformatory, and on no account to let me
have the free use of my limbs.
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- Bookmark Loc. 559 | Added on Monday, 12 November 12 17:48:34 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 562-65 | Added on Monday, 12 November 12 17:48:56 Greenwich Mean
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"With you. Hob and nob," returned the sergeant. "The top of mine to the foot of
yours,—the foot of yours to the top of mine,—Ring once, ring twice,—the best tune
on the Musical Glasses! Your health. May you live a thousand years, and never be a
worse judge of the right sort than you are at the present moment of your life!"
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- Bookmark Loc. 1031 | Added on Wednesday, 14 November 12 07:13:59 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 1031-34 | Added on Wednesday, 14 November 12 07:14:16 Greenwich
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I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but I began to consider
them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became
infectious, and I caught it. She won the game, and I dealt. I misdealt, as was only
natural, when I knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong; and she denounced me
for a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.
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She came back, with some bread and meat and a little mug of beer. She put the mug
down on the stones of the yard, and gave me the bread and meat without looking at
me, as insolently as if I were a dog in disgrace. I was so humiliated, hurt,
spurned, offended, angry, sorry,—I cannot hit upon the right name for the smart—God
knows what its name was,—that tears started to my eyes. The moment they sprang
there, the girl looked at me with a quick delight in having been the cause of them.
This gave me power to keep them back and to look at her: so, she gave a
contemptuous toss—but with a sense, I thought, of having made too sure that I was
so wounded—and left me.
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But when she was gone, I looked about me for a place to hide my face in, and got
behind one of the gates in the brewery-lane, and leaned my sleeve against the wall
there, and leaned my forehead on it and cried. As I cried, I kicked the wall, and
took a hard twist at my hair; so bitter were my feelings, and so sharp was the
smart without a name, that needed counteraction.
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"Well, Pip," said Joe, "be it so or be it son't, you must be a common scholar afore
you can be a oncommon one, I should hope! The king upon his throne, with his crown
upon his ed, can't sit and write his acts of Parliament in print, without having
begun, when he were a unpromoted Prince, with the alphabet.—Ah!" added Joe, with a
shake of the head that was full of meaning, "and begun at A. too, and worked his
way to Z.
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- Bookmark Loc. 2241 | Added on Tuesday, 20 November 12 07:30:18 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 2248-51 | Added on Tuesday, 20 November 12 07:31:20 Greenwich
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Biddy,—when all in a moment some confounding remembrance of the Havisham days would
fall upon me like a destructive missile, and scatter my wits again. Scattered wits
take a long time picking up; and often before I had got them well together, they
would be dispersed in all directions by one stray thought, that perhaps after all
Miss Havisham was going to make my fortune when my time was out.
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- Bookmark Loc. 5447 | Added on Friday, 23 November 12 05:07:04 Greenwich Mean
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Estella not designed for me; I only suffered in Satis House as a convenience, a
sting for the greedy relations, a model with a mechanical heart to practise on when
no other practice was at hand; those were the first smarts I had.
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- Bookmark Loc. 5474 | Added on Friday, 23 November 12 05:30:41 Greenwich Mean
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True, I had no Avenger in my service now, but I was looked after by an inflammatory
old female, assisted by an animated rag-bag whom she called her niece, and to keep
a room secret from them would be to invite curiosity and exaggeration. They both
had weak eyes, which I had long attributed to their chronically looking in at
keyholes, and they were always at hand when not wanted; indeed that was their only
reliable quality besides larceny. Not to get up a mystery with these people, I
resolved to announce in the morning that my uncle had unexpectedly come from the
country.
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- Bookmark Loc. 6695 | Added on Saturday, 24 November 12 04:36:23 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 6696-6700 | Added on Saturday, 24 November 12 04:37:46 Greenwich
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"What have I done! What have I done!" She wrung her hands, and crushed her white
hair, and returned to this cry over and over again. "What have I done!" I knew not
how to answer, or how to comfort her. That she had done a grievous thing in taking
an impressionable child to mould into the form that her wild resentment, spurned
affection, and wounded pride found vengeance in, I knew full well. But that, in
shutting out the light of day, she had shut out infinitely more; that, in
seclusion,
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"Miss Havisham," I said, when her cry had died away, "you may dismiss me from your
mind and conscience. But Estella is a different case, and if you can ever undo any
scrap of what you have done amiss in keeping a part of her right nature away from
her, it will be better to do that than to bemoan the past through a hundred years."
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"But how much would you tell him, Herbert?" "It is necessary to tell him very
little. Let him suppose it a mere freak, but a secret one, until the morning comes:
then let him know that there is urgent reason for your getting Provis aboard and
away. You go with him?" "No doubt."
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He drank again, and became more ferocious. I saw by his tilting of the bottle that
there was no great quantity left in it. I distinctly understood that he was working
himself up with its contents to make an end of me. I knew that every drop it held
was a drop of my life. I knew that when I was changed into a part of the vapor that
had crept towards me but a little while before, like my own warning ghost, he would
do as he had done in my sister's case,—make all haste to the town, and be seen
slouching about there drinking at the alehouses.
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The June weather was delicious. The sky was blue, the larks were soaring high over
the green corn, I thought all that countryside more beautiful and peaceful by far
than I had ever known it to be yet. Many pleasant pictures of the life that I would
lead there, and of the change for the better that would come over my character when
I had a guiding spirit at my side whose simple faith and clear home wisdom I had
proved, beguiled my way. They awakened a tender emotion in me; for my heart was
softened by my return, and such a change had come to pass, that I felt like one who
was toiling home barefoot from distant travel, and whose wanderings had lasted many
years.
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The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (Mark Twain)
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- Highlight Loc. 1426-29 | Added on Tuesday, 27 November 12 12:56:19 Greenwich
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His mother had whipped him for drinking some cream which he had never tasted and
knew nothing about; it was plain that she was tired of him and wished him to go; if
she felt that way, there was nothing for him to do but succumb; he hoped she would
be happy, and never regret having driven her poor boy out into the unfeeling world
to suffer and die.
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A prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed and petted melancholy;

another was a wasteful and opulent gush of "fine language"; another was a tendency
to lug in by the ears particularly prized words and phrases until they were worn
entirely out; and a peculiarity that conspicuously marked and marred them was the
inveterate and intolerable sermon that wagged its crippled tail at the end of each
and every one of them. No matter what the subject might be, a brainracking effort
was made to squirm it into some aspect or other that the moral and religious mind
could contemplate with edification. The glaring insincerity of these sermons was
not sufficient to compass the banishment of the fashion from the schools, and it is
not sufficient today; it never will be sufficient while the world stands, perhaps.
There is no school in all our land where the young ladies do not feel obliged to
close their compositions with a sermon; and you will find that the sermon of the
most frivolous and the least religious girl in the school is always the longest and
the most relentlessly pious. But enough of this. Homely truth is unpalatable.
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"Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single star
quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly vibrated upon
the ear; whilst the terrific lightning revelled in angry mood through the cloudy
chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power exerted over its terror by the
illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth from their
mystic homes, and blustered about as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the
scene.
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"'My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide—My joy in grief, my

second bliss in joy,' came to my side. She moved like one of those bright beings
pictured in the sunny walks of fancy's Eden by the romantic and young, a queen of
beauty unadorned save by her own transcendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it
failed to make even a sound, and but for the magical thrill imparted by her genial
touch, as other unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away unperceived—
unsought. A strange sadness rested upon her features, like icy tears upon the robe
of December, as she pointed to the contending elements without, and bade me
contemplate the two beings presented."
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Water for Elephants (Sara Gruen)
- Bookmark Loc. 1452 | Added on Saturday, 1 December 12 06:38:33 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 1454-56 | Added on Saturday, 1 December 12 06:38:44 Greenwich
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The cook is apoplectic. The advance man is threatening to quit. The boss hostler is
furious, whacking the beleaguered men of the Flying Squadron with flagrant abandon.
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Simon is around seventy and has had at least one heart attack. Ruth has diabetes,
and Peter has prostate trouble. Joseph’s wife ran off with a cabana boy when they
were in Greece, and while Dinah’s breast cancer seems to have gone into remission—
thank God—now she’s got her granddaughter living with her, trying to get the girl
back on track after two illegitimate children and an arrest for shoplifting. And
those are just the things I know about. There are a host of others they don’t
mention because they don’t want to upset me. I’ve caught wind of several, but when
I ask questions they clam right up. Mustn’t upset Grandpa, you know. Why? That’s
what I want to know. I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it
effectively writes me off the page. If I don’t know what’s going on in their lives,
how am I supposed to insert myself in the conversation? I’ve decided it’s not about
me at all. It’s a protective mechanism for them, a way of buffering themselves
against my future death, like when teenagers distance themselves from their parents
in preparation for leaving home. When Simon turned sixteen and got belligerent, I
thought it was just him. By the time Dinah got there, I knew it wasn’t her fault—it
was programmed into her.
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- Bookmark Loc. 5176 | Added on Monday, 3 December 12 14:16:55 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 5180-84 | Added on Monday, 3 December 12 14:17:14 Greenwich Mean
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“Look,” Walter continues, his voice softer, “we’ve got three days left before we
off-load Camel. And we’re just going to have to cope the best we can in the
meantime. That means watching our backs and not doing anything stupid.” “Off-load
Camel?” says Camel. “Is that how you think of me?” “At the moment, yes!” barks
Walter. “And you should be grateful we do, because what the hell do you think would
happen to you if we took off right now? Hmmm?”
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The Time Traveler's Wife (ajaabh@gmail.com)
- Bookmark Loc. 53 | Added on Tuesday, 4 December 12 05:10:06 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 55-60 | Added on Tuesday, 4 December 12 05:10:50 Greenwich Mean
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It’s ironic, really. All my pleasures are homey ones: armchair splendor, the sedate
excitements of domesticity. All I ask for are humble delights. A mystery novel in
bed, the smell of Clare’s long red-gold hair damp from washing, a postcard from a
friend on vacation, cream dispersing into coffee, the softness of the skin under
Clare’s breasts, the symmetry of grocery bags sitting on the kitchen counter
waiting to be unpacked. I love meandering through the stacks at the library after
the patrons have gone home, lightly touching the spines of the books. These are the
things that can pierce me with longing when I am displaced from them by Time’s
whim.
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- Bookmark Loc. 261 | Added on Tuesday, 4 December 12 07:20:10 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 263-66 | Added on Tuesday, 4 December 12 07:20:23 Greenwich Mean
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Here is the Henry I know. Donne’s Elegies and Songs and Sonnets. Doctor Faustus, by
Christopher Marlowe. Naked Lunch. Anne Bradstreet, Immanuel Kant. Barthes,
Foucault, Derrida. Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience. Winnie the Pooh. The
Annotated Alice. Heidegger. Rilke. Tristram Shandy. Wisconsin Death Trip.
Aristotle. Bishop Berkeley. Andrew Marvell. Hypothermia, Frostbite and Other Cold
Injuries.
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The Casual Vacancy (J. K. Rowling)
- Bookmark Loc. 2552 | Added on Friday, 7 December 12 13:03:08 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 2557-66 | Added on Friday, 7 December 12 13:03:33 Greenwich Mean
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He was finding the funeral an even worse ordeal than he had expected. He thought it
might have been better with a wooden coffin; he had had an awful, visceral
awareness of Barry’s body inside that light wickerwork case; the physical weight of
him was shocking. All those complacently staring people, as he walked up the aisle;
did they not understand what he was actually carrying? Then had come the ghastly
moment when he had realized that nobody had saved him a place, and that he would
have to walk all the way back again while everybody stared, and hide among the
standees at the back … but instead he had been forced to sit in the first pew,
horribly exposed. It was like being in the front seat of a rollercoaster, bearing
the brunt of every awful twist and lurch. Sitting there, mere feet from Siobhan’s
sunflower, its head as big as a saucepan lid, in the middle of a big burst of
yellow freesias and daylilies, he actually wished that Kay had come with him; he
could not believe it, but there it was. He would have been consoled by the presence
of somebody who was on his side; somebody simply to keep him a seat. He had not
considered what a sad bastard he might look, turning up alone.
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- Bookmark Loc. 2948 | Added on Friday, 7 December 12 17:33:23 Greenwich Mean Time
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It was what he had dreaded all along: that she would worm her way in and they would
become Gavin-and-Kay, with a shared social circle, so that it would become
progressively more difficult to excise her from his life. How had he let this
happen? Why had he allowed her to move down here? Fury at himself mutated easily
into anger with her. Why couldn’t she realize how little he wanted her, and take
herself off without forcing him to do the dirty?
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- Bookmark Loc. 4926 | Added on Sunday, 9 December 12 05:16:42 Greenwich Mean Time
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- Highlight Loc. 4931-33 | Added on Sunday, 9 December 12 05:17:01 Greenwich Mean
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A fierce, stinging sense of injustice burst through Sukhvinder’s misery, her fear
and her self-loathing; it swept aside that tangle of worries and terrors that
encased her daily; she thought of Krystal and her mates, waiting to charge; she
thought of Fats, whispering poisonous words from behind her in every maths lesson,
and of the message that she had wiped off her Facebook page the previous evening:
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Sukhvinder had not told her brother or her sister that she had tried to truant, or
about Krystal Weedon’s threat to beat her up. The habit of secrecy was very strong
in her these days. She was actively frightened of imparting confidences, because
she feared that they might betray the world of oddness that lived inside her, the
world that Fats Wall seemed able to penetrate with such terrifying ease. All the
same, she knew that the events of the day could not be kept quiet indefinitely.
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At common law, idiots are subject to a permanent legal incapacity to vote, but
persons of unsound mind may vote during lucid intervals. Charles Arnold-Baker Local
Council Administration, Seventh Edition
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- Bookmark Loc. 7401 | Added on Monday, 10 December 12 12:17:07 Greenwich Mean
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The familiar, well-loved streets seemed different, strange. She had taken a regular
inventory of the window she presented to this lovely little world: wife and mother,
hospital volunteer, secretary to the Parish Council, First Citizeness; and Pagford
had been her mirror, reflecting, in its polite respect, her value and her worth.
But the Ghost had taken a rubber stamp and smeared across the pristine surface of
her life a revelation that would nullify it all: ‘her husband was sleeping with his
business partner, and she never knew
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- Bookmark Loc. 7896 | Added on Monday, 10 December 12 15:47:53 Greenwich Mean
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Colin placed himself in front of Fats too late to protect him, but he drew the
curtains anyway. In the gloomy, familiar sitting room, where Fats had confessed to
his parents that he had exposed his father’s illness to the world; where he had
confessed to as much as he could think of, in the hope that they would conclude him
to be mad and ill; where he had tried to heap upon himself so much blame that they
would beat him or stab him or do to him all those things that he knew he deserved,
Colin put a hand gently on his son’s back and steered him away, towards the sunlit
kitchen.)
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Wuthering_Heights-1 (ajaabh@gmail.com)
- Bookmark Loc. 632 | Added on Thursday, 13 December 12 08:19:28 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 632-33 | Added on Thursday, 13 December 12 08:19:39 Greenwich
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I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had wished to return, I intended

shattering their great glass panes to a million of fragments, unless they let her
out. She sat on the sofa quietly.
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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. His
childhood's sense of superiority, instilled into him by the favours of old Mr.
Earnshaw, was faded away. He struggled long to keep up an equality with Catherine
in her studies, and yielded with poignant though silent regret: but he yielded
completely; and there was no prevailing on him to take a step in the way of moving
upward, when he found he must, necessarily, sink beneath his former level. Then
personal appearance sympathised with mental deterioration: he acquired a slouching
gait and ignoble look; his naturally reserved disposition was exaggerated into an
almost idiotic excess of unsociable moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure,
apparently, in exciting the aversion rather than the esteem of his few
acquaintance.
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'And should I always be sitting with you?' she demanded, growing more irritated.
'What good do I get? What do you talk about? You might be dumb, or a baby, for
anything you say to amuse me, or for anything you do, either!'
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The soft thing looked askance through the window: he possessed the power to depart
as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse half killed, or a bird half
eaten.
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'And so do I. I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after,
and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water,
and altered the colour of my mind. And this is one: I'm going to tell it--but take
care not to smile at any part of it.'
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'I seek no revenge on you,' replied Heathcliff, less vehemently. 'That's not the
plan. The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don't turn against him; they crush
those beneath them.
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- Bookmark Loc. 1992 | Added on Friday, 14 December 12 10:39:26 Greenwich Mean
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- Highlight Loc. 1996-2005 | Added on Friday, 14 December 12 10:39:56 Greenwich
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'In that case I'll take measures to secure you, woman!' exclaimed Heathcliff; 'you
shall not leave Wuthering Heights till to-morrow morning. It is a foolish story to
assert that Catherine could not bear to see me; and as to surprising her, I don't
desire it: you must prepare her--ask her if I may come. You say she never mentions
my name, and that I am never mentioned to her. To whom should she mention me if I
am a forbidden topic in the house? She thinks you are all spies for her husband.
Oh, I've no doubt she's in hell among you! I guess by her silence, as much as
anything, what she feels. You say she is often restless, and anxious-looking: is
that a proof of tranquillity? You talk of her mind being unsettled. How the devil
could it be otherwise in her frightful isolation? And that insipid, paltry creature
attending her from duty and humanity! From pity and charity! He might as well plant
an oak in a flower-pot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to
vigour in the soil of his shallow cares? Let us settle it at once: will you stay
here, and am I to fight my way to Catherine over Linton and his footman? Or will
you be my friend, as you have been hitherto, and do what I request? Decide! because
there is no reason for my lingering another minute, if you persist in your stubborn
ill-nature!'
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It is strong enough to make me feel pretty certain that he would not chase me over
England, supposing I contrived a clear escape; and therefore I must get quite away.
I've recovered from my first desire to be killed by him: I'd rather he'd kill
himself! He has extinguished my love effectually, and so I'm at my ease. I can
recollect yet how I loved him; and can dimly imagine that I could still be loving
him, if--no, no! Even if he had doted on me, the devilish nature would have
revealed its existence somehow.
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'He's not a human being,' she retorted; 'and he has no claim on my charity. I gave
him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death, and flung it back to me. People
feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to
feel for him: and I would not, though he groaned from this to his dying day, and
wept tears of blood for Catherine! No, indeed, indeed, I wouldn't!' And here
Isabella began to cry; but, immediately dashing the water from her lashes, she
recommenced.
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In that manner Hareton, who should now be the first gentleman in the neighbourhood,
was reduced to a state of complete dependence on his father's inveterate enemy; and
lives in his own house as a servant, deprived of the advantage of wages: quite
unable to right himself, because of his friendlessness, and his ignorance that he
has been wronged.
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so at present he laid the whole burden of Hareton's faults on the shoulders of the
usurper of his property. If the lad swore, he wouldn't correct him: nor however
culpably he behaved. It gave Joseph satisfaction, apparently, to watch him go the
worst lengths: he allowed that the lad was ruined: that his soul was abandoned to
perdition; but then he reflected that Heathcliff must answer for it. Hareton's
blood would be required at his hands; and there lay immense consolation in that
thought. Joseph had instilled into him a pride of name, and of his lineage; he
would, had he dared, have fostered hate between him and the present owner of the
Heights: but his dread of that owner amounted to superstition; and he confined his
feelings regarding him to muttered innuendoes and private comminations.
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I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had rendered young
Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were not so originally; and my interest
in him, consequently, decayed: though still I was moved with a sense of grief at
his lot, and a wish that he had been left with us. Mr. Edgar encouraged me to gain
information: he thought a great deal about him, I fancy, and would have run some
risk to see him; and he told me once to ask the housekeeper whether he ever came
into the village? She said he had only been twice, on horseback, accompanying his
father;
==========
Time
==========
Mean Time
'My design is as honest as possible. I'll inform you of its whole scope,' he said.
'That the two cousins may fall in love, and get married. I'm acting generously to
your master: his young chit has no expectations, and should she second my wishes
she'll be provided for at once as joint successor with Linton.'
==========
Time
==========
Mean Time
'I've a pleasure in him,' he continued, reflecting aloud. 'He has satisfied my

expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it half so much. But he's
no fool; and I can sympathise with all his feelings, having felt them myself. I
know what he suffers now, for instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning of what
he shall suffer, though. And he'll never be able to emerge from his bathos of
coarseness and ignorance. I've got him faster than his scoundrel of a father
secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. I've taught him to
scorn everything extra-animal as silly and weak. Don't you think Hindley would be
proud of his son, if he could see him? almost as proud as I am of mine. But there's
this difference; one is gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin
polished to ape a service of silver. Mine has nothing valuable about it; yet I
shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had
first-rate qualities, and they are lost: rendered worse than unavailing. I have
nothing to regret; he would have more than any but I are aware of. And the best of
it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! You'll own that I've outmatched Hindley
there. If the dead villain could rise from his grave to abuse me for his
offspring's wrongs, I should have the fun of seeing the said offspring fight him
back again, indignant that he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the
world!'
==========
Time
==========
Mean Time
'It was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff,' she answered. 'Then you believe I
care more for my own feelings than yours, Cathy?' he said. 'No, it was not because
I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because Mr. Heathcliff dislikes me; and is a most
diabolical man, delighting to wrong and ruin those he hates, if they give him the
slightest opportunity.
==========
Time
==========
Mean Time
If you had remembered that Hareton was your cousin as much as Master Heathcliff,
you would have felt how improper it was to behave in that way. At least, it was
praiseworthy ambition for him to desire to be as accomplished as Linton; and
probably he did not learn merely to show off: you had made him ashamed of his
ignorance before, I have no doubt; and he wished to remedy it and please you.
==========
Time
==========
Mean Time
The pettishness that might be caressed into fondness, had yielded to a listless
apathy; there was less of the peevish temper of a child which frets and teases on
purpose to be soothed, and more of the self-absorbed moroseness of a confirmed
invalid, repelling consolation, and ready to regard the good-humoured mirth of
others as an insult.
==========

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Frank, Anne - The Diary of a Young Girl (ajaabh@gmail.

I was always treated as if I had insisted on being born in opposition to the

A prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed and petted melancholy;

"'My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide—My joy in grief, my

I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had wished to return, I intended

'I've a pleasure in him,' he continued, reflecting aloud. 'He has satisfied my

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