I Want Nothing But Death.

...i Will Not Allow Books To Prove Any Thing." "but How Shall We Prove Any Thing?" "we Never Shall.

Those Who Do Not Complain Are Never Pitied.

Full Many A Flower Is Born To Blush Unseen, And Waste Its Fragrance On The Desert Air.

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.

Books--oh! No. I Am Sure We Never Read The Same, Or Not With The Same Feelings." "i Am Sorry You Think So; But If That Be The Case, There Can At Least Be No Want Of Subject. We May Compare Our Different Opinions.