Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels


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"leave me, leave me, if I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so. Oh! how easy for those, who have no sorrow of their own to talk of exertion! Happy, happy Elinor, YOU cannot have an idea of what I suffer."
"Forgive me, forgive me,"
"I know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are — you must be happy; Edward loves you — what, oh what, can do away such happiness as that?"
"No, no, no,"
"he loves you, and only you. You CAN have no grief."
"And you will never see me otherwise. Mine is a misery which nothing can do away."
"there has been no engagement."
"No, he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith with me."
"Yes — no — never absolutely. It was every day implied, but never professedly declared. Sometimes I thought it had been — but it never was."
"Yes — could that be wrong after all that had passed? — But I cannot talk."
Berkeley Street, January.
"How surprised you will be, Willoughby, on receiving this; and I think you will feel something more than surprise, when you know that I am in town. An opportunity of coming hither, though with Mrs. Jennings, was a temptation we could not resist. I wish you may receive this in time to come here to-night, but I will not depend on it. At any rate I shall expect you to-morrow. For the present, adieu.
"I cannot express my disappointment in having missed you the day before yesterday, nor my astonishment at not having received any answer to a note which I sent you above a week ago. I have been expecting to hear from you, and still more to see you, every hour of the day. Pray call again as soon as possible, and explain the reason of my having expected this in vain. You had better come earlier another time, because we are generally out by one. We were last night at Lady Middleton's, where there was a dance. I have been told that you were asked to be of the party. But could it be so? You must be very much altered indeed since we parted, if that could be the case, and you not there. But I will not suppose this possible, and I hope very soon to receive your personal assurance of its being otherwise.
"What am I to imagine, Willoughby, by your behaviour last night? Again I demand an explanation of it. I was prepared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation naturally produced, with the familiarity which our intimacy at Barton appeared to me to justify. I was repulsed indeed! I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting; but though I have not yet been able to form any reasonable apology for your behaviour, I am perfectly ready to hear your justification of it. You have perhaps been misinformed, or purposely deceived, in something concerning me, which may have lowered me in your opinion. Tell me what it is, explain the grounds on which you acted, and I shall be satisfied, in being able to satisfy you. It would grieve me indeed to be obliged to think ill of you; but if I am to do it, if I am to learn that you are not what we have hitherto believed you, that your regard for us all was insincere, that your behaviour to me was intended only to deceive, let it be told as soon as possible. My feelings are at present in a state of dreadful indecision; I wish to acquit you, but certainty on either side will be ease to what I now suffer. If your sentiments are no longer what they were, you will return my notes, and the lock of my hair which is in your possession.
"I felt myself,"
"to be as solemnly engaged to him, as if the strictest legal covenant had bound us to each other."
"He DID feel the same, Elinor — for weeks and weeks he felt it. I know he did. Whatever may have changed him now, (and nothing but the blackest art employed against me can have done it), I was once as dear to him as my own soul could wish. This lock of hair, which now he can so readily give up, was begged of me with the most earnest supplication. Had you seen his look, his manner, had you heard his voice at that moment! Have you forgot the last evening of our being together at Barton? The morning that we parted too! When
he told me that
his distress — can I ever forget his distress?"
"Elinor, I have been cruelly used; but not by Willoughby."
"By all the world, rather than by his own heart. I could rather believe every creature of my acquaintance leagued together to ruin me in his opinion, than believe his nature capable of such cruelty. This woman of whom he writes — whoever she be — or any one, in short, but your own dear self, mama, and Edward, may have been so barbarous to bely me. Beyond you three, is there a creature in the world whom I would not rather suspect of evil than Willoughby, whose heart I know so well?"
"No, no,"
"misery such as mine has no pride. I care not who knows that I am wretched. The triumph of seeing me so may be open to all the world. Elinor, Elinor, they who suffer little may be proud and independent as they like — may resist insult, or return mortification — but I cannot. I must feel — I must be wretched — and they are welcome to enjoy the consciousness of it that can."
"I would do more than for my own. But to appear happy when I am so miserable — Oh! who can require it?"
"It is too much! Oh, Willoughby, Willoughby, could this be yours! Cruel, cruel — nothing can acquit you. Elinor, nothing can. Whatever he might have heard against me — ought he not to have suspended his belief? ought he not to have told me of it, to have given me the power of clearing myself?
— That is unpardonable. Willoughby, where was your heart when you wrote those words? Oh, barbarously insolent! — Elinor, can he be justified?"
"And yet this woman — who knows what her art may have been? — how long it may have been premeditated, and how deeply contrived by her! — Who is she? — Who can she be? — Whom did I ever hear him talk of as young and attractive among his female acquaintance? — Oh! no one, no one — he talked to me only of myself."
"Elinor, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Can not we be gone to-morrow?"
"Yes, why should I stay here? I came only for Willoughby's sake — and now who cares for me? Who regards me?"
"Well then, another day or two, perhaps; but I cannot stay here long, I cannot stay to endure the questions and remarks of all these people. The Middletons and Palmers — how am I to bear their pity? The pity of such a woman as Lady Middleton! Oh, what would HE say to that!"
"no, she would go down; she could bear it very well, and the bustle about her would be less."
"You had better leave me,"
"No, no, no, it cannot be,"
"she cannot feel. Her kindness is not sympathy; her good-nature is not tenderness. All that she wants is gossip, and she only likes me now because I supply it."
"It is Colonel Brandon!"
"We are never safe from HIM."
"I will not trust to THAT,"
"A man who has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others."
"This is admiration of a very particular kind! — what is Miss Morton to us? — who knows, or who cares, for her? — it is Elinor of whom WE think and speak."
"Dear, dear Elinor, don't mind them. Don't let them make YOU unhappy."
"Dear Edward!"
"this is a moment of great happiness! — This would almost make amends for every thing?"
"Oh, don't think of me!"
"don't think of MY health. Elinor is well, you see. That must be enough for us both."
"Not at all. I expected much pleasure in it, but I have found none. The sight of you, Edward, is the only comfort it has afforded; and thank Heaven! you are what you always were!"
"I think, Elinor,"