A Report Of A Most Alarming Nature

One Cannot Know What A Man Really Is By The End Of A Fortnight.

Lovely & Too Charming Fair One, Notwithstanding Your Forbidding Squint, Your Greazy Tresses & Your Swelling Back, Which Are More Frightful Than Imagination Can Paint Or Pen Describe, I Cannot Refrain From Expressing My Raptures, At The Engaging Qualities Of Your Mind, Which So Amply Atone For The Horror, With Which Your First Appearance Must Ever Inspire The Unwary Visitor.

I Read It [history] A Little As A Duty, But It Tells Me Nothing That Does Not Either Vex Or Weary Me. The Quarrels Of Popes And Kings, With Wars Or Pestilences, In Every Page; The Men All So Good For Nothing, And Hardly Any Women At All — It Is Very Tiresome: And Yet I Often Think It Odd That It Should Be So Dull, For A Great Deal Of It Must Be Invention.

His Cold Politeness, His Ceremonious Grace, Were Worse Than Anything.

As A Brother, A Landlord, A Master, She Considered How Many People's Happiness Were In His Guardianship! -- How Much Of Pleasure Or Pain It Was In His Power To Bestow! -- How Much Of Good Or Evil Must Be Done By Him!