Do you think your mother and I should have lived comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!

Woman's mind Oft' shifts her passions, like th'inconstant wind; Sudden she rages, like the troubled main, Now sinks the storm, and all is calm again.

Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.

Follow love and it will flee, flee love and it will follow thee.

Can you support the expense of a husband, hussy, in gaming, drinking and whoring? Have you money enough to carry on the daily quarrels of man and wife about who shall squander most?

Whoever heard a man of fortune in England talk of the necessaries of life? . . . Whether we can afford it or no, we must have superfluities.

Envy is a kind of praise.