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.

My style of writing is very diffrent from yours.

To her own heart it was a delightful affair, to her imagination it was even a ridiculous one, but to her reason, her judgment, it was completely a puzzle.

Almost anything is possible with time

But there was happiness elsewhere which no description can reach.

There is hardly any personal defect... which an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to.

I have changed my mind, and changed the trimmings of my cap this morning; they are now such as you suggested.