...i Will Not Allow Books To Prove

I Am The Happiest Creature In The World. Perhaps Other People Have Said So Before, But Not One With Such Justice. I Am Happier Even Than Jane; She Only Smiles, I Laugh.

How Little Of Permanent Happiness Could Belong To A Couple Who Were Only Brought Together Because Their Passions Were Stronger Than Their Virtue.

Sir Walter Elliot, Of Kellynch-hall, In Somersetshire, Was A Man Who, For His Own Amusement, Never Took Up Any Book But The Barontage; There He Found Occupation For An Idle Hour, And Consolation In A Distressed One; . . .

Elinor Was To Be The Comforter Of Others In Her Own Distresses, No Less Than In Theirs; And All The Comfort That Could Be Given By Assurances Of Her Own Composure Of Mind, And A Very Earnest Vindication Of Edward From Every Charge But Of Imprudence, Was Readily Offered.

Such A Letter Was Not To Be Soon Recovered From. . . . Every Moment Rather Brought Fresh Agitation. It Was An Overpowering Happiness.