"What is there to hinder you from doing all this with Sir Philip? He is a baronet--a man of rank, property, connections far above yours. If you talk of intellect, he is a poet--he writes verses; which you, I take it, cannot do, with all your cleverness."
"Neither his title, wealth, pedigree, nor poetry avail to invest him with the power I describe. These are feather-weights; they want ballast. A measure of sound, solid, practical sense would have stood him in better stead with me."
"You and Henry rave about poetry! You used to catch fire like tinder on the subject when you were a girl."
"O uncle, there is nothing really valuable in this world, there is nothing glorious in the world to come that is not poetry!"
"Marry a poet, then, in God's name!"

"What is there to hinder you from doing all this with Sir Philip? He is a man of rank; he is a poet. You and Henry rave about poetry! Marry a poet, then, in God's name! 