Woman's at best a contradiction still.

When to the Permanent is sacrificed the Mutable, the prize is thine: the drop returneth whence it came. The Open Path leads to the changeless change - Non-Being, the glorious state of Absoluteness, the Bliss past human thought.

With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought.

Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.

I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.

Most women have no characters at all.

Where beams of imagination play, the memory's soft figures melt away.