I did not then know what it was to love [...] had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings to… — Jane Austen

Sir John was delighted; for to a man, whose prevailing anxiety was the dread of being alone, the acquisition of two, to the number of inhabitants in London, was something.

He was not handsome, and his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was too diffident to do justice to himself; but when his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart.

Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience; or give it a more fascinating name: call it hope.