From Chapter 9
 
My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. So don’t talk of our separation again: it is impracticable; and―’
 
. .She paused, and hid her face in the folds of my gown; but I jerked it forcibly away. I was out of patience with her folly!
 
 
 
 
. .About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. 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.
 
. .We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; and Joseph swung on to his knees, beseeching the Lord to remember the patriarchs Noah and Lot, and, as in former times, spare the righteous, though he smote the ungodly. I felt some sentiment that it must be a judgment on us also. The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough, in a fashion which made my companion vociferate, more clamorously than before, that a wide distinction might be drawn between saints like himself and sinners like his master. But the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed; excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes.
 
. .She came in and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, turning her face to the back, and putting her hands before it.
 
 
 
 
Comments:
   
Generically speaking, Catherine is looking at her existence beyond ourselves, her decipherment of our shared experiences, and of the miseries that this will entail. She is using their symbiosis as a rather dreamlike cadence to their lives on the moors.
   
Ellen is critical of this, and states that 'it only goes to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in marrying.'
 
 
 
 
Sorry, I just find Joseph's observations very funny (in a Yorkshirean sort of way).