Who bids me Hope, and in that charming word has peace and transport to my soul restor'd.
Women, like princes, find few real friends.
Your heart's supreme ambition? To be fair.
Me other cares in other climes engage, cares that become my birth, and suit my age: in various knowledge to instruct my youth, and conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth, by foreign arts, domestic faults to mend, enlarge my notions, and my views extend; the useful science of the world to know, which books can never teach, nor pedants show.
None without hope e'er lov'd the brightest fair, but love can hope where reason would despair.
Seek to be good, but aim not to be great; a woman's noblest station is retreat; her fairest virtues fly from public sight; domestic worth,--that shuns too strong a light.
The heart can ne'er a transport know That never feels a pain.
A cunning woman is a knavish fool.
The lover in the husband may be lost.
A woman's noblest station is retreat.
The useful science of the world to know, which books can never teach, nor pedants show.
Ah, no! the conquest was obtained with ease; he pleased you not by studying to please.
To argue against any breach of liberty from the ill use that may be made of it, is to argue against liberty itself, since all is capable of being abused.
Alas! by some degree of woe we every bliss must gain; that heart can ne'er a transport know, that never feels a pain.
What is your sex's earliest, latest care, your heart's supreme ambition? To be fair.
Beauty, like wit, to judges should be shown; both most are valued where they best are known.
Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel; where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle.
Domestic worth, that shuns too strong a light.
For his chaste Muse employ'd her heaven-taught lyre none but the noblest passions to inspire, not one immoral, one corrupted thought, one line which, dying, he could wish to blot.
For his chaste Muse employed her heaven-taught lyre none but the noblest passions to inspire, not one immoral, one corrupted thought, one line, which dying he could wish to blot.
Hence, wretched nation! all thy woes arise, avow'd corruption, licens'd perjuries, eternal taxes, treaties for a day, sServants that rule, and senates that obey.
How can man die better, Than facing fearful odds For the ashes of this fathers And the temples of his gods?
I am interested to see how many young women share the illusion that a woman goes any faster when she runs than she does walking.
It is very odd how completely unable so many men are to put themselves in the place of their own audience - so very unlike the old Duke of Devonshire, who yawned during his own maiden speech because, as he told somebody, 'It was so damned dull.'