A man is sorry to be honest for nothing.

What is deservedly suffered must be borne with calmness, but when the pain is unmerited, the grief is resistless.

Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name.

I hate a woman who offers herself because she ought to do so, and cold and dry thinks of her sewing when making love.

Love is a kind of warfare.

For in this strange anatomy we wear, the head has greater powers than the hand; the spirit, heart, and mind are over all.

O fool, what else is sleep but chill death's likeness?