Reflection must be reserved for solitary hours; whenever she was alone, she gave way to it as the greatest relief.

And to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.

You alone, who know my heart, can judge of my present happiness.

“Jane was not happy. She still cherished a very tender affection for Bingley. Having never even fancied herself in love before, her regard had all the warmth of first attachment, and, from her age and disposition, greater steadiness than most first attachments often boast.”

I certainly have not the talent which some people possess of conversing easily with those I have never seen before.

You know how I have loved you; you can intimately judge of my present feelings, but I am not so weak as to find indulgence in describing them to a woman who will glory in having excited their anguish, but whose affection they have never been able to gain.

Elizabeth could not help observing as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her.

In spite of her previous and fixed determination never to marry, a strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle than she could foresee in her own feelings.

If a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham, could she think, without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

Anya Taylor-Joy as Emma Woodhouse in Emma. (2020)

I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me.

For he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him.

Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried.

The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.

I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband.

“Whatever my connections may be,'' said Elizabeth, ``if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you.”

As for Elizabeth, her thoughts were at Pemberley this evening more than the last; and the evening, though as it passed it seemed long, was not long enough to determine her feelings towards one in that mansion.

To be sure, you knew no actual good of me—but nobody thinks of that when they fall in love.