If I Could But Know His Heart,

Is There Not Something Wanted, Miss Price, In Our Language - A Something Between Compliments And - And Love - To Suit The Sort Of Friendly Acquaintance We Have Had Together?

Nay," Cried Bingley, "this Is Too Much, To Remember At Night All The Foolish Things That Were Said In The Morning.

The More I See Of The World, The More Am I Dissatisfied With It; And Everyday Confirms My Belief Of The Inconsistencies Of All Human.

The Person, Be It Gentleman Or Lady, Who Has Not Pleasure In A Good Novel, Must Be Intolerably Stupid.

We All Know Him To Be A Proud, Unpleasant Sort Of Man; But This Would Be Nothing If You Really Liked Him.