Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand

In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.

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

Nothing but you can lay hold of my mind, and that can lay hold of nothing but you.

A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.

Women like flames have a destroying power; never to be quenched till they themselves devour.

Marriage is honourable, as you say; and if so, wherefore should Cuckoldom be a Discredit, being deriv'd from so honourable a Root?