Arguments Are Too Much Like Disputes.

If I Had Ever Learnt, I Should Have Been A Great Proficient.

Vanity Was The Beginning And The End Of Sir Walter Elliot's Character; Vanity Of Person And Of Situation. He Had Been Remarkably Handsome In His Youth; And, At Fifty-four, Was Still A Very Fine Man. Few Women Could Think More Of Their Personal Appearance Than He Did, Nor Could The Valet Of Any New Made Lord Be More Delighted With The Place He Held In Society. He Considered The Blessing Of Beauty As Inferior Only To The Blessing Of A Baronetcy; And The Sir Walter Elliott, Who United These Gifts, Was The Constant Object Of His Warmest Respect And Devotion.

A Persuadable Temper Might Sometimes Be As Much In Favour Of Happiness As A Very Resolute Character.

I Will Not Adopt That Ungenerous And Impolitic Custom So Common With Novel Writers, Of Degrading By Their Contemptuous Censure The Very Performances, To The Number Of Which They Are Themselves Adding?joining With Their Greatest Enemies In Bestowing The Harshest Epithets On Such Works, And Scarcely Ever Permitting Them To Be Read By Their Own Heroine, Who, If She Accidentally Take Up A Novel, Is Sure To Turn Over Its Insipid Leaves With Disgust.

You Pierce My Soul. I Am Half Agony, Half Hope...i Have Loved None But You.