The want of a thing is perplexing enough, but the possession of it, is intolerable.
Custom is the law of fools.
A slighted woman knows no bounds.
True virtue, wheresoever it moves, still carries an intrinsic worth about it.
Tho marriage be a lottery in which there are a wondrous many blanks, yet there is one inestimable lot in which the only heaven on earth is written.
No man is worth having is true to his wife, or can be true to his wife, or ever was, or ever will be so.