Vanity, Not Love, Has Been My Folly.

I Am Certainly The Most Fortunate Creature That Ever Existed!

Sir Walter Elliot, Of Kellynch-hall, In Somersetshire, Was A Man Who, For His Own Amusement, Never Took Up Any Book But The Barontage; There He Found Occupation For An Idle Hour, And Consolation In A Distressed One; . . .

Could There Be Finer Symptoms? Is Not General Incivility The Very Essence Of Love?

I Begin Already To Weigh My Words And Sentences More Than I Did, And Am Looking About For A Sentiment, An Illustration, Or A Metaphor In Every Corner Of The Room. Could My Ideas Flow As Fast As The Rain In The Storecloset It Would Be Charming.

Personal Size And Mental Sorrow Have Certainly No Necessary Proportions. A Large Bulky Figure Has A Good A Right To Be In Deep Affliction, As The Most Graceful Set Of Limbs In The World. But, Fair Or Not Fair, There Are Unbecoming Conjunctions, Which Reason Will Pa Tronize In Vain,--which Taste Cannot Tolerate,--which Ridicule Will Seize.