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.

I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If I lose the game, it shall not be from not striving for it.

The publicis rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not.

“It is not everyone,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead leaves.”

The wisest and the best of men, nay, the wisest and best of their actions, may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.

This was a lucky recollection -- it saved her from something like regret.

When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable If I have not an excellent library.