Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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“He is just what a young man ought to be,”
“sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners!—so much ease, with such perfect good breeding !”
“I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”
“Dear Lizzy!”
“I would not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone; but I always speak what I think.”
“Certainly not — at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her.”
“Are you quite sure, ma'am? — is not there a little mistake?”
“I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”
“Miss Bingley told me,”
“that
“It is from Miss Bingley,”
“Can I have the carriage?”
“I had much rather go in the coach.”
“My dearest Lizzy.
“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday.
My kind friends will not hear of
They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones — therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me — and, excepting a sore throat and headache there is not much the matter with me. —
“Yours, & c.”
“Though it is difficult,”
“to guess in what way he can mean to make us the atonement he thinks our due, the wish is certainly to his credit.”
“They have both,”
“been deceived, I dare say, in some way or other, of which we can form no idea. Interested people have perhaps misrepresented each to the other. It is, in short, impossible for us to conjecture the causes or circumstances which may have alienated them, without actual blame on either side.”
“Laugh as much as you choose, but you will not laugh me out of my opinion. My dearest Lizzy, do but consider in what a disgraceful light it places Mr. Darcy, to be treating his father's favourite in such a manner, one, whom his father had promised to provide for. It is impossible. No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it. Can his most intimate friends be so excessively deceived in him? Oh! no.”
“It is difficult indeed — it is distressing. One does not know what to think.”
“No,”
“I have not forgotten him; but I have nothing satisfactory to tell you.
Mr. Bingley
and
is perfectly convinced that
and I am sorry to say that by his account as well as his sister's, Mr. Wickham is by no means a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy's regard.”
“No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.”
“He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but
he believes that
“This is from Caroline Bingley; what it contains has surprised me a good deal. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are on their way to town — and without any intention of coming back again. You shall hear what she says.”
“Caroline decidedly says that
I will read it to you.
“It is evident by this,”
“that he comes back no more this winter.”
“Why will you think so? It must be his own doing. He is his own master. But you do not know all. I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you.”
“What do you think of this sentence, my dear Lizzy?”
“Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Caroline neither expects nor wishes me to be her sister; that she is perfectly convinced of her brother's indifference; and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means (most kindly!) to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?”
“Most willingly.”
“If we thought alike of Miss Bingley,”
“your representation of all this might make me quite easy. But I know the foundation is unjust. Caroline is incapable of wilfully deceiving anyone; and all that I can hope in this case is that she is deceiving herself.”
“But, my dear sister, can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose sisters and friends are all wishing him to marry elsewhere?”
“and if, upon mature deliberation, you find that the misery of disobliging his two sisters is more than equivalent to the happiness of being his wife, I advise you by all means to refuse him.”
“How can you talk so?”
“You must know that though I should be exceedingly grieved at their disapprobation, I could not hesitate.”
“But if he returns no more this winter, my choice will never be required. A thousand things may arise in six months!”
“Oh, that my dear mother had more command over herself; she can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on him. But I will not repine. It cannot last long. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.”