Why Jane Austen will always be relevant:

In a way 40% of you, BYU men, are Mr. Collinses. You have all been told by a figure of authority  (Mom, Mission President, Apostle, Prophet, Bishop) that it's time to go out and find a nice wife. I mean, you're an RM now, this is the next step in your life. It's time. And so you go out and try to do just that. Forget about reciprocated love and mutual attraction, as long as she's cute and sweet and looks like she would make a good housewife and mother, then she's the one. Also, boys, it's best to pick someone from your BYU ward or classes. All women at BYU are waiting for marriage, it's your melchizedek duty to help a sister out by blessing her with you, the worthy priesthood holder. Oh, and if girl A ends up being taken, then move on to plan B. Pursue plan B persistently. Invite yourself along to her activities. Seek her out at dances and ask her to dance every slow song. Girls appreciate that. However, if plan B is uninterested, even after you kindly explain to her that it's a commandment from God to get married and she may not have another chance, then I hope there is a less pretty, less interesting, but more desperate friend/roommate named Charlotte Lucas for you. Also, please ignore all Marys that you encounter. You know, the girls that are actually interested in you, like the same things you like, enjoys your obnoxious, planned-out jokes in class, thinks your freckles are cute, and stares longingly at you as you intercept plan B on the stairwell.

This rant is for you, the Mr. Collins in my French class. Remember when you sat next to me, mumbled things incomprehensibly under your breath during class, chatted with me about boring things, probably mission stories, after class, and laughed at everything I said? Well, after a week of polite, simple responses and disinterested looks, you finally got the message and moved on to pretty girl number two. You sit next to her now. She's much nicer to you; she's a much nicer person. Then today, after leaning in and making "witty" comments to her all through lecture, she strategically announced to her friend across the room that her boyfriend is in town for the week. Smooth, Elizabeth, smooth. I would have felt sorry for you, with your crest-fallen face, if it wasn't for Mary sitting on the other side of you! Open your eyes, she likes you! She thinks you're funny and cute and smart and finds your terrible French accent endearing. And she's cute, too! Maybe not the skinny, blonde Elizabeth to your left. But let's face it, skinny, blonde Elizabeth is out of your league. Mary and you would be great together. So great together with your matching freckles. Please, Mr. Collins, why don't you like the girls that like you?