Is There Not Something Wanted, Miss Price,

You Must Allow Me To Tell You How Ardently I Admire And Love You. -mr. Darcy

A Lucky Guess Is Never Merely Luck. There Is Always Some Talent In It.

Vanity Was The Beginning And The End Of Sir Walter Elliot's Character; Vanity Of Person And Of Situation. He Had Been Remarkably Handsome In His Youth; And, At Fifty-four, Was Still A Very Fine Man. Few Women Could Think More Of Their Personal Appearance Than He Did, Nor Could The Valet Of Any New Made Lord Be More Delighted With The Place He Held In Society. He Considered The Blessing Of Beauty As Inferior Only To The Blessing Of A Baronetcy; And The Sir Walter Elliott, Who United These Gifts, Was The Constant Object Of His Warmest Respect And Devotion.

Wisdom Is Better Than Wit, And In The Long Run Will Certainly Have The Laugh On Her Side.

Her Pleasure In The Walk Must Arise From The Exercise And The Day, From The View Of The Last Smiles Of The Year Upon The Tawny Leaves And Withered Hedges, And From Repeating To Herself Some Few Of The Thousand Poetical Descriptions Extant Of Autumn-that Season Of Peculiar And Inexhaustible Influence On The Mind Of Taste And Tenderness-that Season Which Has Drawn From Every Poet Worthy Of Being Read Some Attempt At Description, Or Some Lines Of Feeling.