Explore Quotes by Jane Austen

You men have none of you any hearts.' 'If we have not hearts, we have eyes; and they give us torment enough.

Sitting with her on Sunday evening - a wet Sunday evening - the very time of all others when if a friend is at hand the heart must be opened, and every thing told.

Her mind was all disorder. The past, present, future, every thing was terrible.

She wished such words unsaid with all her heart

But it is very foolish to ask questions about any young ladies — about any three sisters just grown up; for one knows, without being told, exactly what they are — all very accomplished and pleasing, and one very pretty. There is a beauty in every family. — It is a regular thing

…but then I am unlike other people I dare say.

I can never be important to any one.' 'What is to prevent you?' 'Every thing — my situation — my foolishness and awkwardness.

But if I were you, I would stand by the nephew. He has more to give.

If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, send them in, for I am quite as leisure.

And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt too, who must not be longer neglected.

She was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy.

I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly.

The more I see of the world, the more am i dissatisfied with it; and everyday confirms my belief of the inconsistencies of all human.

Beware how you give your heart.

It would be most right, and most wise, and, therefore must involve least suffering.

Mr. Bennet's expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as absurd as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment.

When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene.

Yet there it was not love. It was a little fever of admiration; but it might, probably must, end in love with some

She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no new sensation

It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us.

Time, time will heal the wound.