The Mind Naturally Accommodates Itself, Even To

To Have Some Account Of My Thoughts, Manners, Acquaintance And Actions, When The Hour Arrives In Which Time Is More Nimble Than Memory, Is The Reason Which Induces Me To Keep A Journal: A Journal In Which I Must Confess My Every Thought, Must Open My Whole Heart!

Don't Be Angry With The Gentleman For Thinking, Whatever Be The Cause, For I Assure You He Makes No Common Practice Of Offending In That Way.

I Have This Very Moment Finished Reading A Novel Called The Vicar Of Wakefield [by Oliver Goldsmith].... It Appears To Me, To Be Impossible Any Person Could Read This Book Through With A Dry Eye And Yet, I Don't Much Like It.... There Is But Very Little Story, The Plot Is Thin, The Incidents Very Rare, The Sentiments Uncommon, The Vicar Is Contented, Humble, Pious, Virtuous--but Upon The Whole The Book Has Not At All Satisfied My Expectations.

I Cannot Sleep - Great Joy Is As Restless As Sorrow.

She [evelina] Is Not, Indeed, Like Most Modern Young Ladies; To Be Known In Half An Hour; Her Modest Worth, And Fearful Excellence, Require Both Time And Encouragement To Show Themselves.