The Wuthering Heights was one of the novels that I read in my teens in English language as I built up my linguistic ability and sensitivities for life in general.
The thing that struck me the most was the revelation of how Heathcliff, after Catherine's death, has been wandering around the Wuthering Heights in search of the loved one's spiritual afterglows. The image of the man walking in the wilderness, seeing the invisible, remained with me vividly, although the details of the novel has now escaped.
It is interesting how a certain type of human nature fascinates one. The respect for someone pursuing something that is beyond the scopes of the everyday has been the persistent trait of my adult life.
That kind of attitude has been nurtured by encountering a novel like the Wuthering Heights, and sharing the feelings and understandings with friends of the same feather.
Precious things are hard to find and keep.
Lawrence Olivier as Heathcriff in Wuthering Heights (1939), with Geraldine Fitzgerald.