Her companion's discourse now sunk from its hitherto animated pitch, to nothing more than a short, decisive sentence of praise or condemnation on the face of every woman they met; and Catherine, after listening and agreeing as long as she could,with all the civility and deference of the youthful female mind, fearful of hazarding an opinion of its own in opposition to that of a self-assured man, especially where the beauty of her own sex is concerned, ventured at length to vary the subject.
To be so bent on Marriage - to pursue a man merely for the sake of situation - is a sort of thing that shocks me; I cannot understand it. Poverty is a great Evil, but to a woman of Education and feeling it ought not, it cannot be the greatest. I would rather be a teacher at a school (and I can think of nothing worse) than marry a man I did not like.
And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody." "And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them.
I love you. Most ardently.
If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.
Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly.
Have you any other objection than your belief of my indifference?" - Elizabeth Bennet
My style of writing is very diffrent from yours.
One can never have too large a party.
A Mr. (save, perhaps, some half dozen in the nation,) always needs a note of explanation.
It would be difficult to say which had seen highest perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest: she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in having them accepted.
Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.
I wish I might take this for a compliment; but to be so easily seen through I am afraid is pitiful.
I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should not I call it so?" "Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is a very nice word indeed! It does for everything. Originally perhaps it was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement—people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word.
I do assure you, Sir, that I have no pretension whatever of that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer? Do not consider me now as an elegant female intending to plague you, but as a rational creature speaking the truth from her heart.
If this man had not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow.
It is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage.
Lady Sondes' match surprises, but does not offend me; had her first marriage been of affection, or had their been a grown-updaughter, I should not have forgiven her; but I consider everybody as having a right to marry once in their lives for love, if they can.
I walk: I prefer walking.
Fortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands are exorbitant; but she will swallow any thing.
He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and every body hoped that he would never come there again.
Such squeamish youths as cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity are not worth a regret.
The truth is, that in London it is always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be.
Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning.
We all love to instruct, though we can teach only what is not worth knowing.
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