There Are Certainly Not So Many Men

There Could Have Never Been Two Hearts So Open, No Tastes So Similar, No Feelings So In Unison, No Countenances So Beloved. Now They Were As Strangers; Nay, Worse Than Strangers, For They Could Never Become Acquainted. It Was A Perpetual Estrangement.

But There Was Happiness Elsewhere Which No Description Can Reach.

The More I Know Of The World, The More I Am Convinced That I Shall Never See A Man Whom I Can Really Love.

I Have Faults Enough, But They Are Not, I Hope, Of Understanding. My Temper I Dare Not Vouch For. It Is, I Believe, Too Little Yielding— Certainly Too Little For The Convenience Of The World. I Cannot Forget The Follies And Vices Of Other So Soon As I Ought, Nor Their Offenses Against Myself. My Feelings Are Not Puffed About With Every Attempt To Move Them. My Temper Would Perhaps Be Called Resentful. My Good Opinion Once Lost, Is Lost Forever.

Oh!” Said She, “i Heard You Before, But I Could Not Immediately Determine What To Say In Reply. You Wanted Me, I Know, To Say ‘yes,’ That You Might Have The Pleasure Of Despising My Taste; But I Always Delight In Overthrowing Those Kind Of Schemes, And Cheating A Person Of Their Premeditated Contempt. I Have, Therefore Made Up My Mind To Tell You, That I Do Not Want To Dance A Reel At All--and Now Despise Me If You Dare.” “indeed I Do Not Dare.