Sense & Sensibility

Ok, at this point in my life. I am so torn between giving in to my senses or applying a little bit of sensibility. I so want to.... but this distance is giving me the luxury of having second thoughts.....
Anyway, I saw the movie Sense & Sensibility last Monday, & I cried the tears that I was not able to shed over the weekend. The movie's plot does not really apply to my situation right now, but the movie's title so aptly describes my dilemma right now.
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Fanny: I am the soul of discretion.
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Mrs. Dashwood: Why so grave? You disapprove her choice?
Marianne: By no means. Edward is very amiable.
Mrs. Dashwood: Amiable? But?
Marianne: There is something wanting. He's too sedate. His reading last night...
Mrs. Dashwood: Elinor has not your feelings. His reserve suits her.
Marianne: Can he love her? Can the soul be really be satisfied with such polite affections? To love is to burn - to be on fire, like Juliet or Guinevere or Eloise...
Mrs. Dashwood: They made rather pathetic ends, dear.
Marianne: Pathetic? To die for love? How can you say so? What could be more glorious?
Mrs. Dashwood: I think that would be taking your romantic sensibilities a little far.
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Edward Ferrars: My heart is, and always will be, yours.
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Elinor Dashwood: Did he tell you he loved you?
Marianne: Yes... no. Never absolutely. It was everyday implied but never declared.
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Elinor Dashwood: I do not attempt to deny that I think very highly of him - that I greatly esteem him... I like him.
Marianne: Esteem him? Like him? Use those insipid words again and I shall leave the room this instant.
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Edward Ferrars: Your friendship has been the most important of my life.
Elinor Dashwood: You will always have it.
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Marianne: Always resignation and acceptance. Always prudence and honour and duty. Elinor, where is your heart?
Elinor Dashwood: What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering. For weeks, Marianne, I've had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exultations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you.
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Elinor Dashwood: Whatever his past actions, whatever his present course... at least you may be certain that he loved you.
Marianne: But not enough. Not enough.
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Marianne: Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. Willoughby. Willoughby. Willoughby.
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Elinor Dashwood: You have no confidence in me.
Marianne: This reproach from you. You who confide in no-one.
Elinor Dashwood: I have nothing to tell.
Marianne: Nor I. Neither of us have anything to tell. I because I conceal nothing and you because you communicate nothing.
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Marianne: Did you see him? He expressed himself well, did he not?
Mrs. Dashwood: With great decorum and honour.
Marianne: And spirit and wit and feeling!
Elinor: And economy, 10 words at most.
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Marianne: Is love a fancy or a feeling... or a Ferrars?
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Elinor Dashwood: Mama, [deep sigh]
Elinor Dashwood: is there a painful difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event and its final certainty.