I Have No Talent For Certainty.

Your Countenance Perfectly Informs Me That You Were In Company Last Night With The Person, Whom You Think The Most Agreeable In The World, The Person Who Interests You At This Present Time, More Than All The Rest Of The World Put Together.

An Interval Of Meditation, Serious And Grateful, Was The Best Corrective Of Everything Dangerous.

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.

We Certainly Do Not Forget You, So Soon As You Forget Us. It Is, Perhaps, Our Fate Rather Than Our Merit. We Cannot Help Ourselves.

She Is Probably By This Time As Tired Of Me, As I Am Of Her; But As She Is Too Polite And I Am Too Civil To Say So, Our Letters Are Still As Frequent And Affectionate As Ever, And Our Attachment As Firm And Sincere As When It First Commenced.