There Is, I Believe, In Every Disposition

Pray, Pray Be Composed, And Do Not Betray What You Feel To Every Body Present

I Have Faults Enough, But They Are Not, I Hope, Of Understanding. My Temper I Dare Not Vouch For. It Is, I Believe, Too Little Yielding— Certainly Too Little For The Convenience Of The World. I Cannot Forget The Follies And Vices Of Other So Soon As I Ought, Nor Their Offenses Against Myself. My Feelings Are Not Puffed About With Every Attempt To Move Them. My Temper Would Perhaps Be Called Resentful. My Good Opinion Once Lost, Is Lost Forever.

Mary Wished To Say Something Very Sensible, But Knew Not How.

What Praise Is More Valuable Than The Praise Of An Intelligent Servant?

May I Ask You What These Questions Tend?' 'merely To The Illustration Of Your Character,' Said She, Endeavouring To Shake Off Her Gravity. 'i Am Trying To Make It Out.' 'and What Is Your Success?' She Shook Her Head. 'i Do Not Get On At All. I Hear Such Different Accounts Of You As Puzzle Me Exceedingly.