My Idea Of Good Company Is The

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?

What One Means One Day, You Know, One May Not Mean The Next. Circumstances Change, Opinions Alter.

I Have Been Meditating On The Very Great Pleasure Which A Pair Of Fine Eyes In The Face Of A Pretty Woman Can Bestow.

The Memory Is Sometimes So Retentive, So Serviceable, So Obedient-at Others So Bewildered And Weak-and At Others Again, So Tyrannic, So Beyond Control!

I Have Faults Enough, But They Are Not, I Hope, Of Understanding. My Temper I Dare Not Vouch For. It Is, I Believe, Too Little Yielding— Certainly Too Little For The Convenience Of The World. I Cannot Forget The Follies And Vices Of Other So Soon As I Ought, Nor Their Offenses Against Myself. My Feelings Are Not Puffed About With Every Attempt To Move Them. My Temper Would Perhaps Be Called Resentful. My Good Opinion Once Lost, Is Lost Forever.