I Cannot Make Speeches, Emma...if I Loved

Catherine Had Never Wanted Comfort More, And He [henry] Looked As If He Was Aware Of It.

I Never Wish To Offend, But I Am So Foolishly Shy, That I Often Seem Negligent, When I Am Only Kept Back By My Natural Awkwardness ... Shyness Is Only The Effect Of A Sense Of Inferiority In Some Way Or Other. If I Could Persuade Myself That My Manners Were Perfectly Easy And Graceful, I Should Not Be Shy.

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

There Is Something In The Eloquence Of The Pulpit, When It Is Really Eloquence, Which Is Entitled To The Highest Praise And Honour. The Preacher Who Can Touch And Affect Such An Heterogeneous Mass Of Hearers, On Subjects Limited, And Long Worn Thread-bare In All Common Hands; Who Can Say Any Thing New Or Striking, Any Thing That Rouses The Attention, Without Offending The Taste, Or Wearing Out The Feelings Of His Hearers, Is A Man Whom One Could Not (in His Public Capacity) Honour Enough.

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