I've always thought our house was really Heaven in disguise. Sometimes instead of thinking I was born the day Mr. Earnshaw found me, I think it's really the day I died. But either way it doesn't matter . . . dead or alive doesn't matter . . . as long as every day ends with me being washed up on its porch, I'll be fine. Because as long as there's the house, there will always be Catherine.
Nothing else will ever mean anything to me.