Every time I look at Wuthering Heights, my heart throbs. Slowly, I become accustomed to this feeling of suffocation and pain, and even begin to enjoy it. Perhaps Heathcliff was so painful and happy. Wandering in the real world are all memories, and memories are all you. What if you're gone? Whether in dreams or hallucinations, aren't you always there? But what about the world after waking up? If you still exist in this world/the world no matter what/is meaningful to me/if you are gone/no matter how beautiful the world is/it is just a desert in my eyes.
Then go to sleep, and sleep with her for a long time under the unchanging wasteland.
Some say Heathcliff is a psychopath, and Catherine kills, and they're right. But who hasn't been crazy, stupid, crazy? Just to a different degree. This group of pitiful, ridiculous and hateful people are acting scene by scene, whether it is in fantasy or in reality, but they have no idea that everything that seems crazy is happening to them.
Having said so much, actually think about it carefully, if they hadn't experienced so much, would the two of them be together? The two fires together will eventually run out one day. Can't afford to waste anything. Heathcliff's final death was not so much an atonement as his own exhaustion. Hate is more tiring than love. Love can become a habit, and in the end it can be as plain as water, but hate can't do it. Hate must be sustained by a steady stream of strong emotional support. There's a scene in the movie where Cathy goes to Linton's house, ignores him, and he starves to death a nest of birds he was going to show Cathy. He probably understood by the end that no matter what he did, Cathy would never come back. So what else is there to love.
At the end, the woman in the cloak left slowly, the villa behind him was still dilapidated, and the wind was still blowing, yes, who could have imagined the restless dreams of the long sleepers under that peaceful land.
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