Everybody Has Their Taste In Noises As

We Are Each Of An Unsocial, Taciturn Disposition, Unwilling To Speak, Unless We Expect To Say Something That Will Amaze The Whole Room, And Be Handed Down To Posterity With All The Eclat Of A Proverb.

I Know So Many Who Have Married In The Full Expectation And Confidence Of Some One Particular Advantage In The Connection, Or Accomplishment, Or Good Quality In The Person, Who Have Found Themselves Entirely Deceived, And Been Obliged To Put Up With Exactly The Reverse. What Is This But A Take In?

We Certainly Do Not Forget You As Soon As You Forget Us. It Is, Perhaps, Our Fate Rather Than Our Merit. We Cannot Help Ourselves. We Live At Home, Quiet, Confined, And Our Feelings Prey Upon Us. You Are Forced On Exertion. You Have Always A Profession, Pursuits, Business Of Some Sort Or Other, To Take You Back Into The World Immediately, And Continual Occupation And Change Soon Weaken Impressions.

Are The Shades Of Pemberley To Be Thus Polluted?

I Am Not At All In A Humour For Writing; I Must Write On Till I Am.