comments:
wuthering heights is a well-written tragedy of love. after reading the whole story i would like to talk about the main characters of the story—catherine earnshaw and heathcliff. catherine earnshaw and heathcliff do love each other very much but they do not have the right attitude towards love which leads to the tragedy.
in catherine’s life she made a very foolish decision---marrying to edgar. in fact her love for edgar can never be compared to that for heathcliff. she did so because she thought the wealth of edgar would be useful to help heathcliff. but in reality it did not work. she did not have a good understanding of love which is something pure and saint. if anyone add any purpose into love love itself lost its meaning. catherine’s wrong decision hurt two people who love her and even destroyed the happiness of their offspring.
heathcliff is a man full of retaliation. he loved catherine very much but what he did on the contrary added to the misery of catherine. in my opinion if he really loved catherine he should not walk into catherine’s life again after his disappearance. further more after the death of catherine what heathcliff did brought agony to catherine’s daughter as well as his own son.
after reading i have a better understanding of love. if you love really someone his or her happiness is the thing that most matters.
good sentences
he little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when i beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows as i rode up and when his fingers sheltered themselves with a jealous resolution still further in his waistcoat as i announced my name.
we crept through a broken hedge groped our way up the path and planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window.
it was beautiful - a splendid place carpeted with crimson and crimson-covered chairs and tables and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold a shower of glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the centre and shimmering with little soft tapers.
isabella - i believe she is eleven a year younger than cathy - lay screaming at the farther end of the room shrieking as if witches were running red-hot needles into her.
the long light hair curled slightly on the temples; the eyes were large and serious; the figure almost too graceful.
she supposing edgar could not see her snatched the cloth from my hand and pinched me with a prolonged wrench very spitefully on the arm.
her eyes began to glisten and her lids to twinkle.
her lips were half asunder as if she meant to speak and she drew a breath; but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence.
my love for linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it i’m well aware as winter changes the trees. my love for heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight but necessary.
there was a violent wind as well as thunder and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen-fire.
and her teeth chattered as she shrank closer to the almost extinguished embers.
it had got dusk and the moon looked over the high wall of the court causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building.
a ray fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow and half covered with black whiskers; the brows lowering the eyes deep-set and singular.
linton eyed him with a droll expression - half angry half laughing at his fastidiousness.
it was about the period that my narrative has reached: a bright frosty afternoon; the ground bare and the road hard and dry.
linton lavished on her the kindest caresses and tried to cheer her by the fondest words; but vaguely regarding the flowers she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding.