Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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"I stopped you ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and, I am afraid, gave you pain.—But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a friend, or to ask my opinion of any thing that you may have in contemplation—as a friend, indeed, you may command me.—I will hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think."
"Not at all. I should wish it."
"And I have not forgotten,"
"how sure you were that
You pass it over very handsomely—but you were perfectly right."
"You had better go on,"
"Nay, nay, read on.—You will find how very much he suffers."
"She had engaged
and, by the bye, I wonder how Mrs. Elton bears the disappointment?"
"I wish you would read it with a kinder spirit towards him."
"You do not appear so well satisfied with his letter as I am; but still you must, at least I hope you must, think the better of him for it. I hope it does him some service with you."
"While her dear father lived, any change of condition must be impossible for her. She could never quit him."
"Ah! there is one difficulty unprovided for,"
"I am sure William Larkins will not like it. You must get his consent before you ask mine."
"Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell?—He will have a hot walk."
"Have not you mistaken the day?"
"I am almost certain that the meeting at the Crown is not till to-morrow.—Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday."
"It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had you not been surrounded by other friends, I might have been tempted to introduce a subject, to ask questions, to speak more openly than might have been strictly correct.—I feel that I should certainly have been impertinent."
"Oh! you are too scrupulous, indeed you are,"
"You owe me no apologies; and every body to whom you might be supposed to owe them, is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even—"
"Pray say no more. I feel that all the apologies should be on my side. Let us forgive each other at once. We must do whatever is to be done quickest, and I think our feelings will lose no time there. I hope you have pleasant accounts from Windsor?"
"And the next news, I suppose, will be, that we are to lose you— — just as I begin to know you."
"Nothing can be actually settled yet, perhaps,"
"but, excuse me, it must be thought of."
"Thank you, thank you.—This is just what I wanted to be assured of.—Oh! if you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and open!—Good-bye, good-bye."
"She has had the advantage, you know, of practising on me,"
"like La Baronne d'Almane on La Comtesse d'Ostalis, in Madame de Genlis' Adelaide and Theodore, and we shall now see her own little Adelaide educated on a more perfect plan."
"Poor child!"
"at that rate, what will become of her?"
"But I had the assistance of all your endeavours to counteract the indulgence of other people. I doubt whether my own sense would have corrected me without it."
"I am sure you were of use to me,"
"I was very often influenced rightly by you— — oftener than I would own at the time. I am very sure you did me good. And if poor little Anna Weston is to be spoiled, it will be the greatest humanity in you to do as much for her as you have done for me, except falling in love with her when she is thirteen."
'Mr. Knightley, I am going to do so-and-so; papa says I may, or I have Miss Taylor's leave'
"What an amiable creature I was!—No wonder you should hold my speeches in such affectionate remembrance."
'Mr. Knightley.'
'Mr. Knightley;'
"I remember once calling you 'George,' in one of my amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as you made no objection, I never did it again."
"Impossible!—I never can call you any thing but 'Mr. Knightley.' I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K.—But I will promise,"
"I will promise to call you once by your Christian name. I do not say when, but perhaps you may guess where;—in the building in which N. takes M. for better, for worse."
"He writes like a sensible man,"
"I honour his sincerity. It is very plain that he considers the good fortune of the engagement as all on my side, but that he is not without hope of my growing, in time, as worthy of your affection, as you think me already. Had he said any thing to bear a different construction, I should not have believed him."
"He and I should differ very little in our estimation of the two,"
"much less, perhaps, than he is aware of, if we could enter without ceremony or reserve on the subject."
"Oh!"
"if you fancy your brother does not do me justice, only wait till my dear father is in the secret, and hear his opinion. Depend upon it, he will be much farther from doing you justice. He will think all the happiness, all the advantage, on your side of the question; all the merit on mine. I wish I may not sink into 'poor Emma' with him at once.—His tender compassion towards oppressed worth can go no farther."
"If I understand your brother, he only means so far as your having some thoughts of marrying. He had no idea of me. He seems perfectly unprepared for that."
"Good or bad?"
"Oh! good I am sure.—I see it in your countenance. You are trying not to smile."
"Indeed! but why so?—I can hardly imagine that any thing which pleases or amuses you, should not please and amuse me too."
"No, I have not; I know nothing; pray tell me."