It is wonderful, for almost all his actions may be traced to pride;-and pride has often been his best friend.

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch-hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Barontage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; . . .

She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy.

He certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person.

I am sure of this, that if everybody was to drink their bottle a day, there would be not half the disorders in the world there are now. It would be a famous good thing for us all.

Everybody likes to go their own way–to choose their own time and manner of devotion.

An interval of meditation, serious and grateful, was the best corrective of everything dangerous in such a high-wrought felicity; and she went to her room, and grew steadfast and fearless in the thankfulness of her enjoyment.