Austen Said:

Patterns of Diction in Jane Austen's Major Novels

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"Well then; I guess that Mr. Willoughby hunts."
I do not doubt it,"
"I do assure you,"
"that I have long thought on this point, as you think now. It has been, and is, and probably will always be a heavy misfortune to me, that I have had no necessary business to engage me, no profession to give me employment, or afford me any thing like independence. But unfortunately my own nicety, and the nicety of my friends, have made me what I am, an idle, helpless being. We never could agree in our choice of a profession. I always preferred the church, as I still do. But that was not smart enough for my family. They recommended the army. That was a great deal too smart for me. The law was allowed to be genteel enough; many young men, who had chambers in the Temple, made a very good appearance in the first circles, and drove about town in very knowing gigs. But I had no inclination for the law, even in this less abstruse study of it, which my family approved. As for the navy, it had fashion on its side, but I was too old when the subject was first started to enter it — and, at length, as there was no necessity for my having any profession at all, as I might be as dashing and expensive without a red coat on my back as with one, idleness was pronounced on the whole to be most advantageous and honourable, and a young man of eighteen is not in general so earnestly bent on being busy as to resist the solicitations of his friends to do nothing. I was therefore entered at Oxford and have been properly idle ever since."
"They will be brought up,"
"to be as unlike myself as is possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing."
"I think,"
"that I may defy many months to produce any good to me."
"Do you like London?"
"I was engaged elsewhere."
"Mrs. Jennings told me,"
"that you wished to speak with me, at least I understood her so — or I certainly should not have intruded on you in such a manner; though at the same time, I should have been extremely sorry to leave London without seeing you and your sister; especially as it will most likely be some time — it is not probable that I should soon have the pleasure of meeting you again. I go to Oxford tomorrow."
"Colonel Brandon!"
"Colonel Brandon give ME a living! — Can it be possible?"
"No,"
"not to find it in YOU; for I cannot be ignorant that to you, to your goodness, I owe it all. — I feel it — I would express it if I could — but, as you well know, I am no orator."
"Colonel Brandon seems a man of great worth and respectability. I have always heard him spoken of as such, and your brother I know esteems him highly. He is undoubtedly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman."
"Colonel Brandon, I think, lodges in St. James Street,"
"I must hurry away then, to give him those thanks which you will not allow me to give YOU; to assure him that he has made me a very — an exceedingly happy man."
"He comes from Mr. Pratt's purposely to see us. I WILL be calm; I WILL be mistress of myself."
"At Longstaple!"
"No, my mother is in town."
"Perhaps you mean — my brother — you mean Mrs. — Mrs. ROBERT Ferrars."
"Perhaps you do not know — you may not have heard that my brother is lately married to — to the youngest — to Miss Lucy Steele."
"Yes,"
"they were married last week, and are now at Dawlish."
"It was a foolish, idle inclination on my side,"
"the consequence of ignorance of the world — and want of employment. Had my brother given me some active profession when I was removed at eighteen from the care of Mr. Pratt, I think — nay, I am sure, it would never have happened; for though I left Longstaple with what I thought, at the time, a most unconquerable preference for his niece, yet had I then had any pursuit, any object to engage my time and keep me at a distance from her for a few months, I should very soon have outgrown the fancied attachment, especially by mixing more with the world, as in such case I must have done. But instead of having any thing to do, instead of having any profession chosen for me, or being allowed to chuse any myself, I returned home to be completely idle; and for the first twelvemonth afterwards I had not even the nominal employment, which belonging to the university would have given me; for I was not entered at Oxford till I was nineteen. I had therefore nothing in the world to do, but to fancy myself in love; and as my mother did not make my home in every respect comfortable, as I had no friend, no companion in my brother, and disliked new acquaintance, it was not unnatural for me to be very often at Longstaple, where I always felt myself at home, and was always sure of a welcome; and accordingly I spent the greatest part of my time there from eighteen to nineteen: Lucy appeared everything that was amiable and obliging. She was pretty too — at least I thought so THEN; and I had seen so little of other women, that I could make no comparisons, and see no defects. Considering everything, therefore, I hope, foolish as our engagement was, foolish as it has since in every way been proved, it was not at the time an unnatural or an inexcusable piece of folly."
"THAT was exactly like Robert," —
"And THAT,"
"might perhaps be in HIS head when the acquaintance between them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might think only of procuring his good offices in my favour. Other designs might afterward arise."
"I will not ask your opinion of it as a composition,"
"For worlds would not I have had a letter of hers seen by YOU in former days. — In a sister it is bad enough, but in a wife! — how I have blushed over the pages of her writing! — and I believe I may say that since the first half year of our foolish — business — this is the only letter I ever received from her, of which the substance made me any amends for the defect of the style."
"She will be more hurt by it, for Robert always was her favourite. — She will be more hurt by it, and on the same principle will forgive him much sooner."
"I thought it my duty,"
"independent of my feelings, to give her the option of continuing the engagement or not, when I was renounced by my mother, and stood to all appearance without a friend in the world to assist me. In such a situation as that, where there seemed nothing to tempt the avarice or the vanity of any living creature, how could I suppose, when she so earnestly, so warmly insisted on sharing my fate, whatever it might be, that any thing but the most disinterested affection was her inducement? And even now, I cannot comprehend on what motive she acted, or what fancied advantage it could be to her, to be fettered to a man for whom she had not the smallest regard, and who had only two thousand pounds in the world. She could not foresee that Colonel Brandon would give me a living."
"I was simple enough to think, that because my FAITH was plighted to another, there could be no danger in my being with you; and that the consciousness of my engagement was to keep my heart as safe and sacred as my honour. I felt that I admired you, but I told myself it was only friendship; and till I began to make comparisons between yourself and Lucy, I did not know how far I was got. After that, I suppose, I WAS wrong in remaining so much in Sussex, and the arguments with which I reconciled myself to the expediency of it, were no better than these: — The danger is my own; I am doing no injury to anybody but myself."
"Which, at present,"
"after thanks so ungraciously delivered as mine were on the occasion, he must think I have never forgiven him for offering."
"A letter of proper submission!"
"would they have me beg my mother's pardon for Robert's ingratitude to HER, and breach of honour to ME? — I can make no submission — I am grown neither humble nor penitent by what has passed. — I am grown very happy; but that would not interest. — I know of no submission that IS proper for me to make."
"My dear little cousin,"
"what can be the matter?"
"Was she ill? or was anybody angry with her? or had she quarrelled with Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled about anything in her lesson that he could explain? Did she, in short, want anything he could possibly get her, or do for her?"
"You are sorry to leave Mama, my dear little Fanny,"
"which shows you to be a very good girl; but you must remember that you are with relations and friends, who all love you, and wish to make you happy. Let us walk out in the park, and you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters."
"But William will write to you, I dare say."
"And when shall you do it?"
"If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper and every other material, and you may write your letter whenever you choose. Would it make you happy to write to William?"
"Then let it be done now. Come with me into the breakfast-room, we shall find everything there, and be sure of having the room to ourselves."