Arguments Are Too Much Like Disputes.

She Thought It Was The Misfortune Of Poetry, To Be Seldom Safely Enjoyed By Those Who Enjoyed It Completely; And That The Strong Feelings Which Alone Could Estimate It Truly, Were The Very Feelings Which Ought To Taste It But Sparingly.

May I Ask You What These Questions Tend?' 'merely To The Illustration Of Your Character,' Said She, Endeavouring To Shake Off Her Gravity. 'i Am Trying To Make It Out.' 'and What Is Your Success?' She Shook Her Head. 'i Do Not Get On At All. I Hear Such Different Accounts Of You As Puzzle Me Exceedingly.

My Object Then," Replied Darcy, "was To Show You, By Every Civility In My Power, That I Was Not So Mean As To Resent The Past; And I Hoped To Obtain Your Forgiveness, To Lessen Your Ill Opinion, By Letting You See That Your Reproofs Had Been Attended To. How Soon Any Other Wishes Introduced Themselves I Can Hardly Tell, But I Believe In About Half An Hour After I Had Seen You.

One Does Not Love A Place The Less For Having Suffered In It, Unless It Has Been All Suffering, Nothing But Suffering.

But Are They All Horrid, Are You Sure They Are All Horrid? [referring To Gothic Novels, Fashionable In England At The Beginning Of The 19th Century, But Frowned Upon In Polite Society.]