I was 16 years old, attending boarding school, and I loved Pride and Prejudice. From the opening pages, I loved it. And I will say in my class, not one but two boys told me that I reminded them of Lizzy Bennet. I didn't realize it at the time but this was the nicest thing that any male would ever say to me. This was as good as it got.

But I never thought of who he wasn't, I never had to explain or defend him to myself, I didn't even care what we talked about.

Of course, I didn't imagine then that I could have had a real relationship with any guy. I thought that by virtue of being me I was disqualified.

The better you learn to take care of yourself, the less you settle for being around people who can't or won't treat you as well as you're accustomed.

To remain alone did not seem to me a terrible fate, no worse than being falsely joined to another person.

Anyone who's really interested in anything spends time alone.

Is the depressing part that he's only half right - it's not that she doesn't need rescuing but that nobody else will be able to do it? She has always somehow known that she is the one who will have to rescue herself. Or maybe what's depressing is that this knowledge seems like it should make life easier, and instead it makes it harder.