My Feelings after reading Wuthering Heights
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 happineof 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 happineis the thing that most matters.
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a singular notion dawned upon me. i doubted not—never doubted – that if mr. reed had been alive he would have treated me kindly; and now as i sat looking at the white bed and overshadowed walls – occasionally also turning a fascinated eye towards the dimly gleaming mirror—i began to recall what i had heard of dead men troubled in their graves by the violation of their last wishes revising the earth to punish the perjured and avenge the oppressed; and i thought mr. reed’s spirit harassed by the wrong of his sister’s child might quit its abode—whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of the departed – and rise before me in this chamber. i wiped my tears and hushed my sobs fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me or elicit from the gloom some haloed face bending over me with strange pity. this idea consolatory in theory i felt would be terrible if realized: with all my might i endeavored to stifle it—i endeavored to be firm. shaking my hair from my eyes i lifted my head and tried to look boldly around the dark room; at this moment a light gleamed on the wall. was it i asked myself a ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? no; moonlight was still and this stirred; while i gazed it glided up to the ceiling and quivered over my head. i can now conjecture readily that this streak of light was in all likelihood a gleam from a lantern carried by some one acrothe lawn; but then prepared as my mind was for horror shaken as my nerves were by agitation i thought the swift-darting beam was a herald of some coming vision from another world. my heart beat thick my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears which i deemed the rushing of wings; something seemed near me; i was oppressed suffocated: endurance broke down; i rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort. steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned bessie and abbot entered.
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the next thing i remember is waking up with a feeling as if i had had a frightful nightmare and seeing before me a terrible red glare crossed with thick black bars. i heard voices too speaking with a hollow sound and as if muffled by a rush of wind or water agitation uncertainty and an all-predominating sense of terror confused my faculties. ere long i became aware that some one was handling me; lifting me up and supporting me in a sitting posture and that more tenderly than i had ever been raised or upheld before. i rested my head against a pillow or an arm and felt easy.
in five minutes more the cloud of bewilderment dissolved: i knew quite well that i was in my own bed and that the red glare was the nursery fire. it was night: a candle burnt on the table: bessie stood at the bed-foot with a basin in her hand and a gentleman sat in a chair near my pillow leaning over me.
