But to appear happy when I am so miserable — Oh! who can require it?

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

To be sure you know no actual good of me, but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.

In a letter from Bath to her sister, Cassandra, one senses her frustration at her sheltered existence, Tuesday, 12 May 1801. Another stupid party . . . with six people to look on, and talk nonsense to each other.

Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!

Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want.

All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes.