If I Am Wrong, I Am Doing

Told Herself Likewise Not To Hope. But It Was Too Late. Hope Had Already Entered.

You Think Me Foolish To Call Instruction A Torment, But If You Had Been As Much Used As Myself To Hear Poor Little Children First Learning Their Letters And Then Learning To Spell, If You Had Ever Seen How Stupid They Can Be For A Whole Morning Together, And How Tired My Poor Mother Is At The End Of It, As I Am In The Habit Of Seeing Almost Every Day Of My Life At Home, You Would Allow That To Torment And To Instruct Might Sometimes Be Used As Synonymous Words.

I Take No Leave Of You, Miss Bennet: I Send No Compliments To Your Mother. You Deserve No Such Attention. I Am Most Seriously Displeased.

That Is What I Like; That Is What A Young Man Ought To Be. Whatever Be His Pursuits, His Eagerness In Them Should Know No Moderation, And Leave Him No Sense Of Fatigue.

Sitting With Her On Sunday Evening - A Wet Sunday Evening - The Very Time Of All Others When If A Friend Is At Hand The Heart Must Be Opened, And Every Thing Told.