[Emma] lost no time in hurrying into the shrubbery.—There, with spirits freshened, and thoughts a little relieved, she had taken a few turns, when she saw Mr. Knightley passing through the garden door, and coming towards her… She had been thinking of him the moment before, as unquestionably sixteen miles distant.—There was time only for the quickest arrangement of mind. She must be collected and calm.
I think broken things have such a sad beauty. After years of stories and triumph and tragedy infused into them, they can be so much more romantical than new things that haven’t lived at all.