[i]t Is Well To Have As Many

No One Can Be Really Esteemed Accomplished Who Does Not Greatly Surpass What Is Usually Met With.

Another Stupid Party . . . With Six People To Look On, And Talk Nonsense To Each Other.

Yes, I Found Myself, By Insensible Degrees, Sincerely Fond Of Her; And The Happiest Hours Of My Life Were What I Spent With Her.

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.

Is There Not Something Wanted, Miss Price, In Our Language - A Something Between Compliments And - And Love - To Suit The Sort Of Friendly Acquaintance We Have Had Together?