I Have No Talent For Certainty.

An Unhappy Alternative Is Before You, Elizabeth. From This Day You Must Be A Stranger To One Of Your Parents. Your Mother Will Never See You Again If You Do Not Marry Mr. Collins, And I Will Never See You Again If You Do.

The Memory Is Sometimes So Retentive, So Serviceable, So Obedient-at Others So Bewildered And Weak-and At Others Again, So Tyrannic, So Beyond Control!

I Am Only Resolved To Act In That Manner, Which Will, In My Own Opinion, Constitute My Happiness, Without Reference To You, Or To Any Person So Wholly Unconnected With Me.

You Have Qualities Which I Had Not Before Supposed To Exist In Such A Degree In Any Human Creature. You Have Some Touches Of The Angel In You.

Not Keep A Journal! How Are Your Absent Cousins To Understand The Tenor Of Your Life In Bath Without One? How Are The Civilities And Compliments Of Every Day To Be Related As They Ought To Be, Unless Noted Down Every Evening In A Journal? How Are Your Various Dresses To Be Remembered, And The Particular State Of Your Complexion, And Curl Of Your Hair To Be Described In All Their Diversities, Without Having Constant Recourse To A Journal?