“it Is Not Everyone,” Said Elinor, “who

It Is Better To Know As Little As Possible Of The Defects Of The Person With Whom You Are To Pass Your Life.

Selfishness Must Always Be Forgiven You Know, Because There Is No Hope Of A Cure.

Were I To Fall In Love, Indeed, It Would Be A Different Thing! But I Never Have Been In Love; It Is Not My Way, Or My Nature; And I Do Not Think I Ever Shall.

…she Felt Depressed Beyond Any Thing She Had Ever Known Before.

It Is The Misfortune Of Poetry, To Be Seldom Safely Enjoyed By Those Who Enjoy It Completely.