“It is not everyone,” said Elinor, “who has your passion for dead leaves.”
How little of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their virtue.
I am now convinced that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him; they are even impartial towards her. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this.
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