Everybody likes to go their own way–to choose their own time and manner of devotion.
None but a woman can teach the science of herself.
She wished such words unsaid with all her heart
I will only add, God bless you.
To you I shall say, as I have often said before, Do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at last.
Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.
Young ladies should take care of themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?
I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men.
I should not mind anything at all.
The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, 'Men never know when things are dirty or not;' and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, 'Women will have their little nonsense and needless cares.'
Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion.
You may only call me "Mrs. Darcy"... when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.
Where the waters do agree, it is quite wonderful the relief they give.
I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me.
I am sorry to tell you that I am getting very extravagant and spending all my money: and what is worse for you, I have been spending yours too.
You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking, and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused, and interested you, because I was so unlike them.
Mr. Knightley, if I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.
Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much rather have been merry than wise.
One cannot fix one's eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling fancy.
It is the misfortune of poetry, to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoy it completely.
To her own heart it was a delightful affair, to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her judgment, it was completely a puzzle.
A persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour of happiness as a very resolute character.
But to appear happy when I am so miserable — Oh! who can require it?
I begin already to weigh my words and sentences more than I did, and am looking about for a sentiment, an illustration, or a metaphor in every corner of the room. Could my Ideas flow as fast as the rain in the Storecloset it would be charming.
I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.
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