I Wrote Without Much Effort; For I

She Felt That She Could So Much More Depend Upon The Sincerity Of Those Who Sometimes Looked Or Said A Careless Or A Hasty Thing, Than Of Those Whose Presence Of Mind Never Varied, Whose Tongue Never Slipped.

I Have Frequently Detected Myself In Such Kind Of Mistakes... In A Total Misapprehension Of Character At Some Point Or Other: Fancying People So Much More Gay Or Grave, Or Ingenious Or Stupid Than They Really Are, And I Can Hardly Tell Why, Or In What The Deception Originated. Sometimes One Is Guided By What Other People Say Of Them, Without Giving Oneself Time To Deliberate And Judge.

Her Mind Was All Disorder. The Past, Present, Future, Every Thing Was Terrible.

Children Of The Same Family, The Same Blood, With The Same First Associations And Habits, Have Some Means Of Enjoyment In Their Power, Which No Subsequent Connections Can Supply.

May I Ask You What These Questions Tend?' 'merely To The Illustration Of Your Character,' Said She, Endeavouring To Shake Off Her Gravity. 'i Am Trying To Make It Out.' 'and What Is Your Success?' She Shook Her Head. 'i Do Not Get On At All. I Hear Such Different Accounts Of You As Puzzle Me Exceedingly.