Let Other Pens Dwell On

We Are Each Of An Unsocial, Taciturn Disposition, Unwilling To Speak, Unless We Expect To Say Something That Will Amaze The Whole Room, And Be Handed Down To Posterity With All The Eclat Of A Proverb.

Vanity, Not Love, Has Been My Folly.

Far Be It From Me, My Dear Sister, To Depreciate Such Pleasures. They Would Doubtless Be Congenial With The Generality Of Female Minds. But I Confess They Would Have No Charms For Me. I Should Infinitely Prefer A Book.

I Am Come, Young Ladies, In A Very Moralizing Strain, To Observe That Our Pleasures Of This World Are Always To Be For, And That We Often Purchase Them At A Great Disadvantage, Giving Readi-monied Actual Happiness For A Draft On The Future, That May Not Be Honoured.

Let Other Pens Dwell On Guilt And Misery. I Quit Such Odious Subjects As Soon As I Can, Impatient To Restore Everybody Not Greatly In Fault Themselves To Tolerable Comfort, And To Have Done With All The Rest.