He had been not only one of the most brilliant minds of his day (and in those years, when the century was young, there were, as everyone knows, many), but one of the most genial men and one of the handsomest.
In this quote, the narrator praises Jeffrey Aspern, and the reader is able to clearly witness the extent of the narrator's idealization of the deceased poet. Although he never met him and is only familiar with Aspern through his poetry, the narrator regards Aspern as a near-perfect writer and man, and worships this perfection. The quote utilizes ironic hyperbole—exaggeration—in order to show just how extreme the narrator's love for Aspern is and how much the narrator has crafted Aspern into an ideal figure.
"You and your poor aunt are worse off than Carmelite nuns in their cells. Should you mind telling me how you exist without air, without exercise, without any sort of human contact?"
Part of the narrator's plan to gain access to the letters relies on gaining Miss Tita's trust. In order to do so, he begins to try and disenchant her understanding of her own isolated lifestyle, perpetually casting it in a poor light in order to lure her away from her unwavering loyalty to Juliana. However, even as he attempts to establish a relationship with Miss Tita, the narrator often uses a condescending tone, as evidenced in this quote, where the narrator speaks to Miss Tita and tries to convince her that her isolation is miserable.
“I shall like the flowers better now that I know they are also meant for me.”
The narrator's continued flirtations with Miss Tita begin to progress as he tells her that the flowers he's planting in the garden are for her after she coyly suggests that he is planting them for her in this quote. It is important to note that despite the narrator's eventual total disgust with Tita at the novella's conclusion, he does at one point behave in a way that insinuates he likes Miss Tita. Her feelings toward the narrator then lead her to become increasingly conflicted over her loyalty to her aunt and her desire to help the narrator in getting the letters.
“Inhuman? That’s what the poets used to call the women a hundred years ago. Don’t try that; you won’t do as well as they!” Juliana declared. “There is no more poetry in the world—that I know of at least."
Juliana contrasts the narrator's romantic idealization of the past by recalling how poets—possibly including Aspern, whom the narrator worships—used to refer to women in demeaning terms. The latter half of her statement about a lack of poetry in the world appears to be a hidden criticism of the narrator, who is also not a poet, and instead of poetry, writes biographies about poets.
She was of a yielding nature and capable of doing almost anything to please a person who was kind to her; but the greatest kindness of all would be not to presume too much on this.
The narrator commits a fatal error in his underestimation of Miss Tita's true character. He believes her weak and naive, which eventually leads to his shock and total lack of preparation for the fact that she burns the letters at the novella's conclusion. The narrator believes she will do "almost anything" to please a person who is kind; however, Miss Tita does not do "almost anything" for him, and instead burns the letters.
“The truth is God’s, it isn’t man’s; we had better leave it alone. Who can judge of it—who can say?”
Juliana indirectly criticizes the narrator's desire to access Aspern's letters and his biographical project by telling him that it would be better if the truth were left alone. She also pointedly rejects the narrator's deification of Aspern by referencing God, whereas the narrator often refers to Aspern as his god.
“You must wait—you must wait,” Miss Tita moralized mournfully; and her tone ministered little to my patience, for it seemed after all to accept that wretched possibility.
Miss Tita irritates the narrator by asking him to wait for the letters, and as the novella progresses, her inability to choose between him and Juliana pushes him to become rude and calculating in his treatment of her. In the end, however, she destroys the letters, in part to retaliate against his poor treatment of her.
If I have candidly narrated the importunities, the indelicacies, of which my desire to possess myself of Jeffrey Aspern’s papers had rendered me capable I need not shrink from confessing this last indiscretion.
In this quote, the narrator describes his final, "terrible" act: sneaking into Juliana's room in order to look for the letters against her wishes. His self-disclosure within the narration is an important feature of the novella, as it pushes the reader to question whether the narrator really has been "candidly" and honestly narrating, and reinforces the fact that the narration is biased from his first-person perspective.
“Ah, you publishing scoundrel!”
This quote is one of the most pivotal lines uttered in the novella, an insult that Juliana hisses at the narrator after seeing him open her secretary and try to get the letters without her permission. It explicitly condemns the narrator's literary scholarship and the extent to which he is willing to act unethically in order to get what he wants.
I wrote to her that I had sold the picture, but I admitted to Mrs. Prest, at the time (I met her in London, in the autumn), that it hangs above my writing table. When I look at it my chagrin at the loss of the letters becomes almost intolerable.
Even after he has left Venice, the narrator is haunted by Aspern, almost as if by a curse. His obsession continues to dominate his life and he is even unable to sell the portrait that Miss Tita gave him. Instead, the portrait hangs above his desk, a reminder of his failed trip to Venice.
And now she had the force of soul—Miss Tita with force of soul was a new conception—to smile at me in her humiliation.
In this quote, the narrator reacts to Miss Tita's dismissal of him following her failed marriage proposal. Rather than accept his unkindness, Miss Tita surprises the narrator by asserting her agency. She burns the letters and outwardly asks him to leave the house, even though the narrator believes he has humiliated her by rejecting her proposal. She humiliates him in return as her final act of rebellion against the narrator.
