It Is The Misfortune Of Poetry, To

I Have Been Used To Consider Poetry As "the Food Of Love" Said Darcy. "of A Fine, Stout, Healthy Love It May. Everything Nourishes What Is Strong Already. But If It Be Only A Slight, Thin Sort Of Inclination, I Am Convinced That One Good Sonnet Will Starve It Entirely Away.

No- I Cannot Talk Of Books In A Ballroom; My Head Is Always Full Of Something Else.

My Dear Mr. Bennet," Said His Lady To Him One Day, "have You Heard That Netherfield Park Is Let At Last?

My Heart Is, And Always Will Be, Yours.

It Was A Gloomy Prospect, And All That She Could Do Was To Throw A Mist Over It, And Hope When The Mist Cleared Away, She Should See Something Else.