Which Of All My Important Nothings Shall

The Family Of Dashwood Had Long Been Settled In Sussex. Their Estate Was Large, And Their Residence Was At Norland Park, In The Centre Of Their Property, Where, For Many Generations, They Had Lived In So Respectable A Manner As To Engage The General Good Opinion Of Their Surrounding Acquaintance. The Late Owner Of This Estate Was A Single Man, Who Lived To A Very Advanced Age, And Who For Many Years Of His Life, Had A Constant Companion And Housekeeper In His Sister.

I Am Sure," Cried Catherine, "i Did Not Mean To Say Anything Wrong; But It Is A Nice Book, And Why Should Not I Call It So?" "very True," Said Henry, "and This Is A Very Nice Day, And We Are Taking A Very Nice Walk, And You Are Two Very Nice Young Ladies. Oh! It Is A Very Nice Word Indeed! It Does For Everything. Originally Perhaps It Was Applied Only To Express Neatness, Propriety, Delicacy, Or Refinement—people Were Nice In Their Dress, In Their Sentiments, Or Their Choice. But Now Every Commendation On Every Subject Is Comprised In That One Word.

Nothing Ever Fatigues Me, But Doing What I Do Not Like.

There Is Not The Hundredth Part Of The Wine Consumed In This Kingdom That There Ought To Be. Our Foggy Climate Wants Help.

Marianne Dashwood Was Born To An Extraordinary Fate. She Was Born To Discover The Falsehood Of Her Own Opinions, And To Counteract, By Her Conduct, Her Most Favourite Maxims.