Women govern us; let us render them perfect: the more they are enlightened, so much the more shall we be. On the cultivation of the mind of women depends the wisdom of men. It is by women that nature writes on the hearts of men.
Won't you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.
Ye prime adepts in scandal's school, who rail by precept and detract by rule!
You ?re our enemy; lead the way, and we ?ll precede.
You are not like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once, are you?
You had no taste when you married me.
You know it is not my interest to pay the principal, or my principal to pay the interest.
You shall see them on a beautiful quarto page, where a neat rivulet of text shall meander through a meadow of margin.
You write with ease to show your breeding, but easy writing ?s curst hard reading.
You're our enemy; lead the way, and we 'll precede.
While his off-heel, insidiously aside, provokes the caper which he seems to chide.
Wit loses its point when dipped in malice.
Wit loses its respect with the good when seen in company with malice; and to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief.
Through all the drama ? whether damned or not ? Love gilds the scene, and women guide the plot.
Tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion.
To smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief.
Too civil by half.
We will not anticipate the past; so mind, young people,?our retrospection will be all to the future.
When delicate and feeling souls are separated, there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement of the elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but hints some cause for a lover's apprehension.
Where they do agree on the stage, their unanimity is wonderful.
There's no possibility of being witty without a little ill-nature; the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick.
There's no possibility of being witty without a little ill-nature? The malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick.
There's nothing like being used to a thing.
They only babble who practise not reflection. - I shall think; and thought is silence.
They only have lived long who have lived virtuously.