Vanity Working On A Weak Head, Produces

Do Not Consider Me Now As An Elegant Female Intending To Plague You, But As A Rational Creature Speaking The Truth From Her Heart.

Fine Dancing, I Believe, Like Virtue, Must Be Its Own Reward.

You Are Too Generous To Trifle With Me. If Your Feelings Are Still What They Were Last April, Tell Me So At Once. My Affections And Wishes Are Unchanged; But One Word From You Will Silence Me On This Subject For Ever.

In A Letter From Bath To Her Sister, Cassandra, One Senses Her Frustration At Her Sheltered Existence, Tuesday, 12 May 1801. Another Stupid Party . . . With Six People To Look On, And Talk Nonsense To Each Other.

How Clever You Are, To Know Something Of Which You Are Ignorant.