If I Loved You Less,

There Could Have Never Been Two Hearts So Open, No Tastes So Similar, No Feelings So In Unison, No Countenances So Beloved. Now They Were As Strangers; Nay, Worse Than Strangers, For They Could Never Become Acquainted. It Was A Perpetual Estrangement.

She Will Never Submit To Any Thing Requiring Industry And Patience, And A Subjection Of The Fancy To The Understanding.

She Looked Back As Well As She Could; But It Was All Confusion. She Had Taken Up The Idea, She Supposed And Made Everything Bend To It.

She Thought It Was The Misfortune Of Poetry, To Be Seldom Safely Enjoyed By Those Who Enjoyed It Completely; And That The Strong Feelings Which Alone Could Estimate It Truly, Were The Very Feelings Which Ought To Taste It But Sparingly.

To Look Almost Pretty Is An Acquisition Of Higher Delight To A Girl Who Has Been Looking Plain For The First Fifteen Years Of Her Life Than A Beauty From Her Cradle Can Ever Receive.