Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch-hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Barontage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; . . .

Lovely & too charming Fair one, notwithstanding your forbidding Squint, your greazy tresses & your swelling Back, which are more frightful than imagination can paint or pen describe, I cannot refrain from expressing my raptures, at the engaging Qualities of your Mind, which so amply atone for the Horror, with which your first appearance must ever inspire the unwary visitor.

There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison

He then departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the midst of a heavy rain.

She is loveliness itself.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted, and rather selfish, is to be ill-disposed.

...when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.