It is the business of a comic poet to paint the vices and follies of human kind.

She once used me with that insolence, that in revenge I took her to pieces; sifted her, and separated her failings; I studied 'em, and got 'em by rote. The catalogue was so large, that I was not without hopes, one day or other to hate her heartily.

If there's delight in love, 'Tis when I see that heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me.

Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.

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

O ay, letters - I had letters - I am persecuted with letters - I hate letters - nobody knows how to write letters; and yet one has 'em, one does not know why - they serve one to pin up one's hair.

O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.