I Take No Leave Of You, Miss

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?

There, He Had Seen Every Thing To Exalt In His Estimation The Woman He Had Lost, And There Begun To Deplore The Pride, The Folly, The Madness Of Resentment, Which Had Kept Him From Trying To Regain Her When Thrown In His Way.

What Do You Know Of My Heart? What Do You Know Of Anything But Your Own Suffering. For Weeks, Marianne, I've Had This Pressing On Me Without Being At Liberty To Speak Of It To A Single Creature. It Was Forced On Me By The Very Person Whose Prior Claims Ruined All My Hope. I Have Endured Her Exultations Again And Again Whilst Knowing Myself To Be Divided From Edward Forever. Believe Me, Marianne, Had I Not Been Bound To Silence I Could Have Provided Proof Enough Of A Broken Heart, Even For You.

I Take No Leave Of You, Miss Bennet: I Send No Compliments To Your Mother. You Deserve No Such Attention. I Am Most Seriously Displeased.

Nobody, Who Has Not Been In The Interior Of A Family, Can Say What The Difficulties Of Any Individual Of That Family May Be.