Quite definitely a Bingley

Love doesn't attack; it infiltrates.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that one only comes up with clever, cutting remarks long after the other party is happily slumbering away.

It was the usual sort of academic battle: footnotes at ten paces, bolstered by snide articles in academic journals and lots of sniping about methodology, a thrust and parry of source and countersource. My sources had to be better.

Tell them I have the headache--no, the plague! I need something nice and contagious.

Old books exert a strange fascination for me -- their smell, their feel, their history; wondering who might have owned them, how they lived, what they felt.

Gentlemen do so appreciate a nicely trimmed décolletage.