Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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“has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”
“Then,”
“you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”
“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”
“All this she must possess,”
“and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
“Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?”
“I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united.”
“Undoubtedly,”
“there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”
her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her.
to have a note sent to Longbourn, desiring her mother to visit Jane, and form her own judgement of her situation.
“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,”
“Oh! yes — I understand you perfectly.”
“That is as it happens. It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours.”
“Yes, but intricate characters are the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”
“The country,”
“can in general supply but a few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”
“But people themselves alter so much, that there is something new to be observed in them for ever.”
“Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,”
“You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town, which you must acknowledge to be true.”
if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn since her coming away.
“And so ended his affection,”
“There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”
“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,”
“Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”
having promised on his first coming into the country to give a ball at Netherfield.
it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep it.
“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of to yours.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
“Thank you — but I always mend my own.”
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present I have not room to do them justice.”
“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not for me to determine.”
“My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,”
“must disarm reproof.”
“Nothing is more deceitful,”
“than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”
“The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance.
When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that
you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself — and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”
“I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse,
a friend were to say,
you would probably do it, you would probably not go — and, at another word, might stay a month.”
“You have only proved by this,”
“that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself.”
“Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intentions as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?”
“You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety.”