Life seems nothing more than a quick succession of busy nothings.
Run mad as often as you choose but do not faint.
His nature, sir. Like many charming people, he conceals an almost absolute dependence on the appreciation of others.
His sole interest is in being loved, sir, not in loving.
Usually from embroidering something of little use and no beauty… not to mention a healthy dose of opium every day.
The effect of education, I suppose.
I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Crawford, but I’m afraid I do not have a ready opinion.
I have no talent for certainty.
It could have turned out differently, I suppose.
But it didn’t.
I often wonder that history should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention.
Maria was married on Saturday. In all important preparations of mind she was complete, being prepared for matrimony by a hatred of home, by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry. The bride was elegantly dressed and the two bridesmaids were duly inferior. Her mother stood with salts, expecting to be agitated, and her aunt tried to cry. Marriage is indeed a maneuvering business.
To be at home again, to be loved by my family, to feel affection without fear or restraint and to feel myself the equal of those that surround me.
