Are The Shades Of Pemberley To Be

How Can You Contrive To Write So Even?

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.

But To Live In Ignorance On Such A Point Was Impossible.

We Are All Fools In Love.

We Neither Of Us Perform To Strangers.