I have now attained the true art of letter-writing, which we are always told, is to express on paper exactly what one would say to the same person by… - Jane Austen

Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies.

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.

Ah! there is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.