It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than she was ten years before.

And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt too, who must not be longer neglected.

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.

She knew that what Marianne and her mother conjectured one moment, they believed the next: that with them, to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect.

She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! Alas! She must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.

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.

No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with.