What One Means One Day,

'my Fingers,' Said Elizabeth, 'do Not Move Over This Instrument In The Masterly Manner Which I See So Many Woman's Do. They Have Not The Same Force Of Rapidity And Do Not Possess The Same Expression. But Then I Have Always Supposed It To Be My Own Fault - Because I Would Not Take The Trouble Of Practicing. It Is Not That I Do Not Believe My Fingers As Capable As Any Other Woman's Of Superior Execution.' Darcy Smiled And Said, 'you Are Perfectly Right.'

I Have A High Respect For Your Nerves. They Are My Old Friends.

Not Keep A Journal! How Are Your Absent Cousins To Understand The Tenor Of Your Life In Bath Without One? How Are The Civilities And Compliments Of Every Day To Be Related As They Ought To Be, Unless Noted Down Every Evening In A Journal? How Are Your Various Dresses To Be Remembered, And The Particular State Of Your Complexion, And Curl Of Your Hair To Be Described In All Their Diversities, Without Having Constant Recourse To A Journal?

I Read It [history] A Little As A Duty, But It Tells Me Nothing That Does Not Either Vex Or Weary Me. The Quarrels Of Popes And Kings, With Wars Or Pestilences, In Every Page; The Men All So Good For Nothing, And Hardly Any Women At All — It Is Very Tiresome: And Yet I Often Think It Odd That It Should Be So Dull, For A Great Deal Of It Must Be Invention.

Fraternal Love, Sometimes Almost Every Thing, Is At Others Worse Than Nothing.