I Wrote Without Much Effort; For I

A Woman Of Seven And Twenty, Said Marianne, After Pausing A Moment, Can Never Hope To Feel Or Inspire Affection Again.

I Might As Well Enquire,” Replied She, “why With So Evident A Design Of Offending And Insulting Me, You Chose To Tell Me That You Liked Me Against Your Will, Against Your Reason, And Even Against Your Character?

I Have No Pretensions Whatever To That Kind Of Elegance Which Consists In Tormenting A Respectable Man.

“it Is Not Everyone,” Said Elinor, “who Has Your Passion For Dead Leaves.”

It Is Very Often Nothing But Our Own Vanity That Deceives Us. Women Fancy Admiration Means More Than It Does. And Men Take Care That They Should.