Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels


Your search returned 1250 results

"you make me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, I remember it all now; all, except your saving this relic— I knew nothing of that till this moment —but the cutting the finger, and my recommending court-plaister, and saying I had none about me!—Oh! my sins, my sins!—And I had plenty all the while in my pocket!—One of my senseless tricks!—I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of my life.—Well—
go on— — what else?"
"And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for his sake!"
"Lord bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling about! I never was equal to this."
"I do remember it,"
"I perfectly remember it.—Talking about spruce-beer.—Oh! yes— Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton's seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it.—Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an idea he was standing just here."
"Well, go on."
"My poor dear Harriet! and have you actually found happiness in treasuring up these things?"
"But, Harriet, is it necessary to burn the court-plaister?—I have not a word to say for the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister might be useful."
"And when,"
"will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill?"
the gipsy, though she had told no fortune, might be proved to have made Harriet's.—
"Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I would advise you to do so and so"—
"Never marry!—This is a new resolution."
"I hope it does not proceed from — —I hope it is not in compliment to Mr. Elton?"
Should she proceed no farther?—should she let it pass, and seem to suspect nothing?—Perhaps Harriet might think her cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were totally silent, it might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too much;
Plain dealing was always best.
"Harriet, I will not affect to be in doubt of your meaning. Your resolution, or rather your expectation of never marrying, results from an idea that the person whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your superior in situation to think of you. Is not it so?"
"I am not at all surprized at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you was enough to warm your heart."
"It is very natural. It is natural, and it is honourable.—Yes, honourable, I think, to chuse so well and so gratefully.—But that it will be a fortunate preference is more than I can promise. I do not advise you to give way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage for its being returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be wisest in you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not let them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your sensations. I give you this caution now, because I shall never speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against all interference. Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. Let no name ever pass our lips. We were very wrong before; we will be cautious now.—He is your superior, no doubt, and there do seem objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been matches of greater disparity. But take care of yourself. I would not have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured your raising your thoughts to him, is a mark of good taste which I shall always know how to value."
Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind— and it must be saving her from the danger of degradation.
to go in and drink tea with him.
"Nonsense! for shame!"
"No, no, you must not; you shall not, indeed."
"I did not know that proper names were allowed,"
"it all meant nothing; a mere joke among ourselves."
"Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax? Oh! yes, perfectly.—Why do you make a doubt of it?"
"Never, never!"
"Never, for the twentieth part of a moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could it possibly come into your head?"
"Oh! you amuse me excessively. I am delighted to find that you can vouchsafe to let your imagination wander—but it will not do— very sorry to check you in your first essay—but indeed it will not do. There is no admiration between them, I do assure you; and the appearances which have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar circumstances —feelings rather of a totally different nature —it is impossible exactly to explain:—there is a good deal of nonsense in it—but the part which is capable of being communicated, which is sense, is, that they are as far from any attachment or admiration for one another, as any two beings in the world can be. That is, I presume it to be so on her side, and I can answer for its being so on his. I will answer for the gentleman's indifference."
Two or three more of the chosen only were to be admitted to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending, elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons and the Sucklings.
an arrangement which would probably expose her even to the degradation of being said to be of Mrs. Elton's party!
It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it was—
as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding.—Some faults of temper John Knightley had; but Isabella had connected herself unexceptionably. She had given them neither men, nor names, nor places, that could raise a blush.
How Jane could bear it at all,
"Should not they walk? Would not Mr. Knightley shew them the gardens— all the gardens?—She wished to see the whole extent."—
Mr. Knightley and Harriet distinct from the rest, quietly leading the way.
Mr. Knightley and Harriet!—
It was an odd tete-a-tete; but she was glad to see it.—There had been a time when he would have scorned her as a companion, and turned from her with little ceremony. Now they seemed in pleasant conversation.
It was too old a story.—Robert Martin had probably ceased to think of Harriet.—
"Will you be so kind,"
"when I am missed, as to say that I am gone home?—I am going this moment.—My aunt is not aware how late it is, nor how long we have been absent—but I am sure we shall be wanted, and I am determined to go directly.—I have said nothing about it to any body. It would only be giving trouble and distress. Some are gone to the ponds, and some to the lime walk. Till they all come in I shall not be missed; and when they do, will you have the goodness to say that I am gone?"
"Certainly, if you wish it;—but you are not going to walk to Highbury alone?"
"Yes— what should hurt me?—I walk fast. I shall be at home in twenty minutes."
"But it is too far, indeed it is, to be walking quite alone. Let my father's servant go with you.—Let me order the carriage. It can be round in five minutes."
"Thank you, thank you —but on no account.—I would rather walk.—And for me to be afraid of walking alone!—I, who may so soon have to guard others!"
"That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the carriage. The heat even would be danger.—You are fatigued already."
"I am,"—
"I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue—quick walking will refresh me.—Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can shew me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary."