Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open. There was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others.
The progress of the friendship between Catherine and Isabella was quick as its beginning had been warm...and if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up, to read novels together.
Strange things may be generally accounted for if their cause be fairly seached out.
You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who would make you so.
I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.
No one can withstand the charm of such a mystery.