Have A Little Compassion On My Nerves.

It Is Indolence... Indolence And Love Of Ease; A Want Of All Laudable Ambition, Of Taste For Good Company, Or Of Inclination To Take The Trouble Of Being Agreeable, Which Make Men Clergymen. A Clergyman Has Nothing To Do But Be Slovenly And Selfish; Read The Newspaper, Watch The Weather, And Quarrel With His Wife. His Curate Does All The Work And The Business Of His Own Life Is To Dine.

It Was For The Sake Of What Had Been, Rather Than What Was.

Her Eye Fell Everywhere On Lawns And Plantations Of The Freshest Green; And The Trees, Though Not Fully Clothed, Were In That Delightful State When Farther Beauty Is Known To Be At Hand, And When, While Much Is Actually Given To The Sight, More Yet Remains For The Imagination.

Now They Were As Strangers; Nay Worse Than Strangers, For They Could Never Become Acquainted.

Upon The Whole, Therefore, She Found What Had Been Sometimes Found Before, That An Event To Which She Had Looked Forward With Impatient Desire, Did Not, In Taking Place, Bring All The Satisfaction She Had Promised Herself.