How wonderful, how very wonderful the operations of time, and the changes of the human mind!

Nothing amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than themselves.

My style of writing is very diffrent from yours.

And what am I to do on the occasion? -- It seems an hopeless business.

Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody not greatly in fault themselves to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest.

Told herself likewise not to hope. But it was too late. Hope had already entered.

She is probably by this time as tired of me, as I am of her; but as she is too Polite and I am too civil to say so, our letters are still as frequent and affectionate as ever, and our Attachment as firm and sincere as when it first commenced.