A modest woman, dressed out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation.
An emperor in his nightcap will not meet with half the respect of an emperor with a crown.
But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
Want of prudence is too frequently the want of virtue.
Could a man live by it, it were not unpleasant employment to be a poet.
When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?