“Miss Bennet, I am quite aware of your superior talent for cutting down the Lord's forsaken flock. I merely mean to spare your gown.'Thank you,' said Elizabeth, composing herself, 'but I should rather my gown be soiled than my honor.”

“If aught must be lost, ‘twill be my honor for yours. If one must be forsaken, ‘twill be my soul for yours. Should death come anon, ‘twill be my life for yours. I am Given.”

“These reasonings have no logical connection: "I am richer than you; therefore I am your superior." "I am more eloquent than you; therefore I am your superior." The true logical connection is rather this: "I am richer than you; therefore my possessions must exceed yours." "I am more eloquent than you; therefore my style must surpass yours." But you, after all, consist in neither property nor in style.”

“I miss you.…” He stroked the indentation of the gown where her waist would have been—should have been. “I miss you so much.”

“When will you ask for your post back?” he whispered in her ear. “I miss the smell ofindustrial-strength solvents.”She laughed softly. “Soon. And when will you have papers read at the mathematical societyagain? I rather like having my husband called a genius for reasons that are not clear to me.”My husband. The words rolled off her tongue, easy and beautiful. He kissed her fervently.“Soon. My brilliance quite overflowed on the way home. I have four notebooks to show forit.”“Good. We don’t want people to think I love you for your looks alone.”“In that case we should also put you in some rather revealing gowns once in a while, so thatpeople don’t think I married you for your accomplishments alone.”

“I take no leave of you, Miss Bennet: I send no compliments to your mother. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”