T
here are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.
S
he is still a poker — but a poker of whom everybody is afraid. . . . A wit, a delineator of character, who does not talk is terrific indeed!”
I
die a martyr to my grief for the loss of Augustus. One fatal swoon has cost me my life. Beware of Swoons, Dear Laura. . . .A frenzy fit is not one quarter so pernicious; it is an exercise to the body and if not too violent, is I dare say conducive to health in its consequences. Run mad as often as you chuse, but do not faint.
by 
by 
