sete anos, sete dias

"It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."

Jane Austen "Sense and Sensibility"

Is it just me?

Or do you ever get the urge to go back in time, and kick her in the arse?

Seven times.

I mean. All those little pearls of wisdom. Hundreds of them. Thousands and thousands of words, being all clever about the upper class English human condition in the early nineteenth century. All in that unbearable prissy "oh, I'm so clever, I could faint from all my cleverness with an attack of the vapours on the chaise longue... ai!" And then she goes and gets Colin Firth and turns him into a sex god. How the hell did she do that? It just irritates me. To the bone.

Or maybe it was all just bullshit. Maybe she just made it up as she went along and it just turned out sounding like she knew what she was talking about... (ooh, vit readers, that DOES sounds familiar, doesn't it?)... never thought of that, did you?