Women are like the arts, forced unto none, Open to all searchers, unprized, if unknown.
All our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.
My love though silly is more brave.
Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.
I do not love a man, except I hate his vices, because those vices are the enemies, and the destruction of that friend whom I love.
Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.