Men were put into the world to teach women the law of compromise.

There seemed a gulf impassable between them.

It was, perhaps, one of those cases in which advice is good or bad only as the event decides.

Woman is fine for her own satisfaction alone. No man will admire her the more, no woman will like her the better for it. Neatness and fashion are enough for the former, and a something of shabbiness or impropriety will be most endearing to the latter.

How much sooner one tires of anything than of a book!

How she might have felt had there been no Captain Wentworth in the case, was not worth enquiry; for there was a Captain Wentworth: and be the conclusion of the present suspense good or bad, her affection would be his forever. Their union, she believed, could not divide her more from other men, than their final separation.

Perhaps it is our imperfections that make us so perfect for one another.