"I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle"
About this Quote
Austen slips a blade into the softest part of respectable self-image: the gap between who we think we are and what we actually do. “Selfish” is a blunt confession, but she immediately qualifies it with the genteel escape hatch of “in principle.” That phrase is doing social work. It signals a person fluent in moral language, someone who can recite the right values, even cherish them privately, while still arranging life to their own advantage. The line is less about villainy than about the everyday hypocrisy that polite society not only permits but practically trains.
The specific intent feels diagnostic, almost clinical: to name a pattern of behavior without surrendering the speaker’s sense of decency. Austen’s world is crowded with people who mistake good intentions for good character, who treat virtue as a taste or an identity rather than a discipline. By separating practice from principle, the speaker tries to preserve their membership in the moral class even as they admit failure. It’s a confession that still wants to be forgiven.
The subtext is sharper: “I knew better” is the real indictment. Austen’s irony often targets the self-deceptions that come wrapped in refinement - the way manners can launder egotism into something socially acceptable. In context, this kind of admission reads like the turning point her novels demand: self-knowledge arriving not as a halo, but as embarrassment. The line works because it refuses melodrama; it pins moral growth to the unglamorous moment when you realize your ethics have been mostly theoretical.
The specific intent feels diagnostic, almost clinical: to name a pattern of behavior without surrendering the speaker’s sense of decency. Austen’s world is crowded with people who mistake good intentions for good character, who treat virtue as a taste or an identity rather than a discipline. By separating practice from principle, the speaker tries to preserve their membership in the moral class even as they admit failure. It’s a confession that still wants to be forgiven.
The subtext is sharper: “I knew better” is the real indictment. Austen’s irony often targets the self-deceptions that come wrapped in refinement - the way manners can launder egotism into something socially acceptable. In context, this kind of admission reads like the turning point her novels demand: self-knowledge arriving not as a halo, but as embarrassment. The line works because it refuses melodrama; it pins moral growth to the unglamorous moment when you realize your ethics have been mostly theoretical.
Quote Details
| Topic | Humility |
|---|
More Quotes by Jane
Add to List
