Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and even to appear to believe it serious.
There was everything in the world against their being serious but his words and manner. Everything natural, probable, reasonable, was against it; all their habits and ways of thinking, and all her own demerits.
How could she have excited serious attachment in a man who had seen so many, and been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions, even where pains had been taken to please him; who thought so slightly, so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points; who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? And farther, how could it be supposed that his sister, with all her high and worldly notions of matrimony, would be forwarding anything of a serious nature in such a quarter? Nothing could be more unnatural in either.
Everything might be possible rather than serious attachment, or serious approbation of it toward her.
no more than what he might often have expressed towards her cousins and fifty other women.
wishing not to appear to think anything really intended,
she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; for every day would restore the knowledge of William's advancement, whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more.
She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child, for her distress had allowed no arrangement; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.
If Mr. Crawford would but go away!
go and take his sister with him, as he was to do, and as he returned to Mansfield on purpose to do. And why it was not done already she could not devise, for Miss Crawford certainly wanted no delay.
His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible;
there to remain, during the whole of his visit, unless actually sent for;
Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.
she did feel almost ashamed of herself, after such a picture as her uncle had drawn, for not liking Mr. Crawford.
She would rather die than own the truth;
Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had deceived his expectations; she had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?
The past, present, future, everything was terrible.
Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She was miserable for ever. She had no one to take her part, to counsel, or speak for her. Her only friend was absent. He might have softened his father; but all, perhaps all, would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again and again; she might hear it, or see it, or know it to exist for ever in every connexion about her.
yet, if he really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness together.
To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches!
Anything might be bearable rather than such reproaches. Even to see Mr. Crawford would be less overpowering.
to prove to him that she did desire his comfort, and sought to regain his favour;
Not to excite suspicion by her look or manner was now an object worth attaining; and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her aunt Norris.
A fire! it seemed too much;
Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle again;
he did not mean there should be any change, and
it was only her own conscience that could fancy any;
all the reason she had to bless the kindness which saved her from the same spirit of reproach, exerted on a more momentous subject.
she had done right:
her judgment had not misled her. For the purity of her intentions she could answer;
her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as he considered the matter with more impartiality, and felt, as a good man must feel, how wretched, and how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked it was to marry without affection.
When the meeting with which she was threatened for the morrow was past, she could not but flatter herself that the subject would be finally concluded, and Mr. Crawford once gone from Mansfield,
everything would soon be as if no such subject had existed. She would not, could not believe, that Mr. Crawford's affection for her could distress him long; his mind was not of that sort. London would soon bring its cure. In London he would soon learn to wonder at his infatuation, and be thankful for the right reason in her which had saved him from its evil consequences.
how he could, after such language from her as she felt herself obliged to use, was not to be understood.
she did not love him, could not love him, was sure she never should love him;
such a change was quite impossible;
the subject was most painful to her;
she must entreat him never to mention it again, to allow her to leave him at once, and let it be considered as concluded for ever.
added, that
in her opinion their dispositions were so totally dissimilar as to make mutual affection incompatible; and that they were unfitted for each other by nature, education, and habit.
She must be courteous, and she must be compassionate.
a perseverance so selfish and ungenerous. Here was again a want of delicacy and regard for others which had formerly so struck and disgusted her. Here was again a something of the same Mr. Crawford whom she had so reprobated before. How evidently was there a gross want of feeling and humanity where his own pleasure was concerned; and alas! how always known no principle to supply as a duty what the heart was deficient in! Had her own affections been as free as perhaps they ought to have been, he never could have engaged them.
too great indulgence and luxury of a fire upstairs:
her being never under any circumstances able to love Mr. Crawford,
how much of the truth was unknown to him, she believed she had no right to wonder at the line of conduct he pursued. He, who had married a daughter to Mr. Rushworth: romantic delicacy was certainly not to be expected from him. She must do her duty, and trust that time might make her duty easier than it now was.
She could not,
suppose Mr. Crawford's attachment would hold out for ever; she could not but imagine that steady, unceasing discouragement from herself would put an end to it in time.
If her aunt's feelings were against her, nothing could be hoped from attacking her understanding.
They sat so much longer than usual in the dining-parlour, that she was sure they must be talking of her;
Miss Crawford's power was all returning. He had been speaking of her cheerfully from the hour of his coming home. His avoiding her was quite at an end. He had dined at the Parsonage only the preceding day.