I was miserable.

Miss Dashwood, you cannot have an idea of the comfort it gives me to look back on my own misery.

I owe such a grudge to myself for the stupid, rascally folly of my own heart, that all my past sufferings under it are only triumph and exultation to me now.

Well, I went, left all that I loved, and went to those to whom, at best, I was only indifferent.

My journey to town--travelling with my own horses, and therefore so tediously--no creature to speak to--my own reflections so cheerful--when I looked forward every thing so inviting!--when I looked back at Barton, the picture so soothing!--oh, it was a blessed journey!" He stopped.
"Well, sir," said Elinor, who, though pitying him, grew impatient for his departure, "and this is all ?" "Ah!--no,--have you forgot what passed in town?
-- That infamous letter--Did she shew it you ?" "Yes, I saw every note that passed." "When the first of hers reached me (as it immediately did, for I was in town the whole time,) what I felt is--in the common phrase, not to be expressed; in a more simple one--perhaps too simple to raise any emotion--my feelings were very, very painful .-- Every line, every word was--in the hackneyed metaphor which their dear writer, were she here, would forbid--a dagger to my heart.