growing in the goo

"Mr. Elliot was rational, discreet, polished,—but he was not open. There was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indignation or delight, at the evil or good of others. This, to Anne, was a decided imperfection. Her early impressions were incurable. She prized the frank, the open-hearted, the eager character beyond all others. Warmth and enthusiasm did captivate her still. She felt that she could so much more depend upon the sincerity of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped."

Sometimes...I think that Jane Austen and I would have gotten along very well. Unless, like an actor, she just played a part, and didn't feel what she wrote. But is it possible for authors to refrain from putting a bit of themselves in their works?