I Must Learn To Be Content With

Pity Is For This Life, Pity Is The Worm Inside The Meat, Pity Is The Meat, Pity Is The Shaking Pencil, Pity Is The Shaking Voice-- Not Enough Money, Not Enough Love--pity For All Of Us--it Is Our Grace, Walking Down The Ramp Or On The Moving Sidewalk, Sitting In A Chair, Reading The Paper, Pity, Turning A Leaf To The Light, Arranging A Thorn.

But A Sanguine Temper, Though For Ever Expecting More Good Than Occurs, Does Not Always Pay For Its Hopes By Any Proportionate Depression. It Soon Flies Over The Present Failure, And Begins To Hope Again.

We Certainly Do Not Forget You, So Soon As You Forget Us. It Is, Perhaps, Our Fate Rather Than Our Merit. We Cannot Help Ourselves.

Well, My Dear," Said Mr. Bennet, When Elizabeth Had Read The Note Aloud, "if Your Daughter Should Have A Dangerous Fit Of Illness—if She Should Die, It Would Be A Comfort To Know That It Was All In Pursuit Of Mr. Bingley, And Under Your Orders.

You Are Mistaken, Mr. Darcy, If You Suppose That The Mode Of Your Declaration Affected Me In Any Other Way, Than As It Spared The Concern Which I Might Have Felt In Refusing You, Had You Behaved In A More Gentlemanlike Manner.