anghraine

I’ve talked about this a million times before, but every time I see arguments about which broody adapted Darcys are better, I just think of:

“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.”
Darcy only smiled.

“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil—a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.”
“And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.”
“And yours,” he replied, with a smile, “is wilfully to misunderstand them.”

“It is your turn to say something now, Mr Darcy—I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”
He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

“What think you of books?” said he, smiling.
“Books—Oh! no. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”
“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions.”

“It is a proof of your own attachment to Hertfordshire. Anything beyond the very neighbourhood of Longbourn, I suppose, would appear far.”
As he spoke there was a sort of smile which Elizabeth fancied she understood.

“Indeed, Mr Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire—and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too—for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out as will shock your relations to hear.”
“I am not afraid of you,” said he smilingly.

“I have always supposed it to be my own fault–because I would not take the trouble of practising. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman’s of superior execution.”
Darcy smiled and said, “You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you can think anything wanting.”

Elizabeth walked on in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last it arrested her—and she beheld a striking resemblance of Mr Darcy, with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her.

she sat in misery till Mr Darcy appeared again, when, looking at him, she was a little relieved by his smile.

LET 👏 DARCY 👏 SMILE 👏

Tagged: #not tight brief smiles either #darcy smiles enough for it to show up in a /painting/ #or at least he used to and still does around elizabeth #yes he's a fundamentally serious person but not anywhere near to the degree of the adaptations #thanks for coming to my talk and goodbye