I have been used to consider poetry as "the food of love" said Darcy.

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is
strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I
am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.

Is not general incivility the very essence of love?

In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels.

We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.

She had been a friend and companion such as few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and peculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure, every scheme of hers--one to whom she could speak every thought as it arose, and who had such an affection for her as could never find fault.

Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind. But vanity, not love, has been my folly.