Elizabeth Had Never Been More At A

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

Do Not Give Way To Useless Alarm; Though It Is Right To Be Prepared For The Worst, There Is No Occasion To Look On It As Certain.

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.

No: The Years Which Had Destroyed Her Youth And Bloom Had Only Given Him A More Glowing, Manly, Open Look, In No Respect Lessening His Personal Advantages. She Had Seen The Same Frederick Wentworth.

A Man Would Always Wish To Give A Woman A Better Home Than The One He Takes Her From; And He Who Can Do It, Where There Is No Doubt Of Her Regard, Must, I Think, Be The Happiest Of Mortals.