I will be calm. I will be mistress of myself.

With women, the heart argues, not the mind.

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

They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.

A mind lively and at ease, can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.

Is there not something wanted, Miss Price, in our language - a something between compliments and - and love - to suit the sort of friendly acquaintance we have had together?

A lucky guess is never merely luck. There is always some talent in it.