What a trajedy to be a martyr for love, yet we worship the characters anyways because they remind us of how we struggled.

You may marry Miss Grey for her fifteen pounds but you will always be my Willoughby. My nightmare. My sorrow. My past. My mistake. My regret. My love.

The most introspective of souls are often those that have been hurt the most.

Pray you never become Miss Grey with her £50,000 and love comes to you without social rules and people's need for approval.

Her family had of late been exceedingly fluctuating. For many years of her life she had had two sons; but the crime and annihilation of Edward a few weeks ago, had robbed her of one; the similar annihilation of Robert had left her for a fortnight without any; and now, by the resurrection of Edward, she had one again.

Every writer dreams about the day they can step into their fiction and wander its hallways.