O, she is the antidote to desire.
I confess freely to you, I could never look long upon a monkey, without very mortifying reflections.
No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.
I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.
Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.
In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.