I Have Read Your Book, And I

She Will Never Submit To Any Thing Requiring Industry And Patience, And A Subjection Of The Fancy To The Understanding.

Women Are The Only Correspondents To Be Depended On.

There Is Not The Hundredth Part Of The Wine Consumed In This Kingdom That There Ought To Be. Our Foggy Climate Wants Help.

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

A Man Would Always Wish To Give A Woman A Better Home Than The One He Takes Her From; And He Who Can Do It, Where There Is No Doubt Of Her Regard, Must, I Think, Be The Happiest Of Mortals.