jane-austen

...seeing the way his trousers clung to those most English parts.

You know, there was a time when childbirth was possibly the most terrifying thing you could do in your life, and you were literally looking death in the face when you went ahead with it. And so this is a kind of flashback to a time when that's what every woman went through. Not that they got ripped apart, but they had no guarantees about whether they were going to live through it or not. You know, I recently read - and I don't read nonfiction, generally - Becoming Jane Austen. That's the one subject that would get me to go out and read nonfiction. And the author's conclusion was that one of the reason's Jane Austen might not have married when she did have the opportunity...well, she watched her very dear nieces and friends die in childbirth! And it was like a death sentence: You get married and you will have children. You have children and you will die. (Laughs) I mean, it was a terrifying world.

You may well warn me against such an evil. Human nature is so prone to fall into it!

Words made you mighty. Words, stories, books: they could take you anywhere, and they could go out anywhere in the world. Jenny -- Jane -- picked up her pen, and began to write.

...the long blue shadows of afternoon advanced before me like cheerful ghosts of last summer's growth, dancing past the withered flower borders and the stiff hedges to fall at the feet of a stone nymph, her cascade of water frozen in her urn.

In the Blue Room, Cora Cash was trying to concentrate on her book. Cora found most novels hard to sympathise with -- all those plain governesses -- but this one had much to recommend it. The heroine was 'handsome, clever, and rich', rather like Cora herself. Cora knew she was handsome -- wasn't she always referred to in the papers as 'the divine Miss Cash'? She was clever -- she could speak three languages and could handle calculus. And as to rich, well, she was undoubtedly that. Emma Woodhouse was not rich in the way that she, Cora Cash, was rich. Emma Woodhouse did not lie on a lit _ la polonaise once owned by Madame du Barry in a room which was, but for the lingering smell of paint, an exact replica of Marie Antoinette's bedchamber at le petit Trianon. Emma Woodhouse went to dances at the Assembly Rooms, not fancy dress spectaculars in specially built ballrooms. But Emma Woodhouse was motherless which meant, thought Cora, that she was handsome, clever, rich and free.

Gentleman: An imaginary creature found in Jane Austen novels.

Mr. Knightley to be no longer coming there for his evening comfort! - No longer walking in at all hours, as if ever willing to change his own home for their's! - How was it to be endured?

Before the house-maid had lit the fire the next day, or the sun gained any power over the cold, gloomy morning in January, Marianne, only half dressed, was kneeling against one of the window-seats for the sake of all the little light she could command from it, and writing as fast as a continual flow of tears would permit her.

Sophia shrieked and fainted on the ground _ I screamed and instantly ran mad. We remained thus mutually deprived of our senses, some minutes, and on regaining them were deprived of them again. For an Hour and a Quarter did we continue in this unfortunate situation _ Sophia fainting every moment and I running mad as often. At length a groan from the hapless Edward (who alone retained any share of life) restored us to ourselves.

Dear Eloisa (said I) there__ no occasion for your crying so much about such a trifle. (for I was willing to make light of it in order to comfort her) I beg you would not mind it _ You see it does not vex me in the least; though perhaps I may suffer most from it after all; for I shall not only be obliged to eat up all the Victuals I have dressed already, but must if Henry should recover (which however is not very likely) dress as much for you again; or should he die (as I suppose he will) I shall still have to prepare a Dinner for you whenever you marry any one else. So you see that tho perhaps for the present it may afflict you to think of Henry__ sufferings, yet I dare say he__l die soon and then his pain will be over and you will be easy, whereas my Trouble will last much longer for work as hard as I may, I am certain that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight

Lucy gripped her chilled glass of orange and raspberry juice. When Rebecca talked about Austen, she__ mostly mentioned Mr. Darcy or Mr. Knightley. She hadn__ really thought of the doe-eyed, pale-skinned heroines. On the screen, Anne Elliot walked down a long hallway, glancing just once at covered paintings, her mouth a grim line. Lucy thought Jane Austen would start the story with the romance, or the loss of it, but instead the tale seemed to begin with Anne__ home, and having to make difficult decisions. Maybe this writer from over two hundred years ago knew how everything important met at the intersection of family, home, love, and loss. This was something Lucy understood with every fiber of her being.

Two things I learned a long time ago, Cate: Don't hold a grudge longer than it takes to work your way through a pan of brownies all by yourself, and don't begrudge someone an apology if they deserve it.

Her face crumpled and he felt her pain as if it were his own. He wanted to take it back, but just like that memory, it was always going to be there. She worked to get control over her features, then said, ____ sorry I didn__ defend you. I__ sorry I didn__ tell them you were my guest._ Jem hadn__ thought he cared anymore, not really, but her words were tugging loose the hard, painful knot in his chest. __t__ okay._ She shook her head. __t__ not. It wasn__._ He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He didn__ know what else to say and all he wanted was to touch her skin, let her know that he wasn__ that boy anymore and that she wasn__ that girl.

Her face crumpled and he felt her pain as if it was his own. He wanted to take it back, but just like that memory, it was always going to be there. She worked to get control over her features, then said, ____ sorry I didn__ defend you. I__ sorry I didn__ tell them you were my guest._ Jem hadn__ thought he cared anymore, not really, but her words were tugging loose the hard, painful knot in his chest. __t__ okay._ She shook her head. __t__ not. It wasn__._ He reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. He didn__ know what else to say and all he wanted was to touch her skin, let her know that he wasn__ that boy anymore and that she wasn__ that girl.

No man is offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves it is the woman only who can make it a torment.

You__e thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it sliplet it gosay __ give up_ one last time and give him a sad smile.You__e thinkingit shouldn__ be this hard,shouldn__ be this dark,thinkinglove could flow easily with no holding backand you__e seen others find their match and build something greattogether,of each other,like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great thingsone by one, always together, and it seems grand.But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn__ live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone__o more__akes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle.You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming gardenbut that__ not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winterwalking home alone and angrybut falling asleep thinking you love him.This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don__ go I need youlike you need meand maybe it__ not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castleand you can run from it your whole life but this is herein front of you.Maybe nurture it?Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an houror two.This is your fairy. It ain__ perfect and it ain__ honey sweet with roses on the bed.It__ real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don__ throw it away searching for someone else__ love. Don__ be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone__ someone for someone.Be that someone for him.That__ your fairy tale. This is your castle.Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It__ yours if you make it so.Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine.

Angry people are not always wise.