You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope...I have loved none but you.

There is a quickness of perception in some, a nicety in the discernment of character, a natural penetration, in short, which no experience in others can equal.

A Mr. (save, perhaps, some half dozen in the nation,) always needs a note of explanation.

Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim.

Time will explain.

I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet: I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.

Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief.