You are human and fallible.

I am not an angel," I asserted; "and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself.

So you shun me? - you shut yourself up and grieve alone! I would rather you had come and upbraided me with vehemence. You are passionate: I expected a scene of some kind. I was prepared for the hot rain of tears; only I wanted them to be shed on my breast: now a senseless floor has received them, or your drenched handkerchief. But I err: you have not wept at all! I see a white cheek and faded eye, but no trace of tears. I suppose, then, that your heart has been weeping blood?

Little Jane's love would have been my best reward, without it, my heart is broken.

You know full well as I do the value of sisters' affections: There is nothing like it in this world.

I am not deceitful: if I were, I should say I loved you; but I declare I do not love you: I dislike you the worst of anybody in the world.

I'm just going to write because I cannot help it.