It is the misfortune of poetry, to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoy it completely.

When the evening was over, Anne could not be amused…nor could she help fearing, on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct would ill bear examination.

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

The publicis rather apt to be unreasonably discontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not.

He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.

I cannot make speeches, Emma...If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.

I trust that absolutes have gradations.