We must consider what Miss. Fairfax quits, before we condemn her taste for what she goes to.

One does not love a place the less for having suffered in it, unless it has been all suffering, nothing but suffering.

You may only call me "Mrs. Darcy"... when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.

There could have never been two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved. Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.

Is not poetry the food of love?

Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for a better preparation for death.

My good opinion once lost is lost forever.