If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.

A wit should no more be sincere, than a woman constant; one argues a decay of parts, as to other of beauty.

They come together like the Coroner's Inquest, to sit upon the murdered reputations of the week.

A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.

Wit must be foiled by wit: cut a diamond with a diamond.

Mr Witwould: "Pray, madam, do you pin up your hair with all your letters? I find I must keep copies." Mrs Millamant: "Only with those in verse.... I never pin up my hair with prose."

You are a woman: you must never speak what you think; your words must contradict your thoughts, but your actions may contradict your words.