I do not write for such dull elves
As have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves.

Letter, January 29, 1813, to her sister, Cassandra.

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More from Jane Austen

It was the misfortune of poetry, to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly, were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.

Selfishness must always be forgiven you know, because there is no hope of a cure.

There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.

The truth is, that in London it is always a sickly season. Nobody is healthy in London, nobody can be.

There are such beings in the World perhaps, one in a Thousand,as the Creature You and I should think perfection, Where Grace & Spirit are united to Worth, where the Manners are equal to the Heart & Understanding, but such a person may not come in your way, or if he does, he may not be the eldest son of a Man of Fortune, the Brother of your particular friend & belonging to your own Country.

Letter, November 18, 1814, to her niece, Fanny Knight. Jane Austen