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

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

Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.

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

Honor is a public enemy, and conscience a domestic, and he that would secure his pleasure, must pay a tribute to one and go halves with t'other.

I know that’s a secret, for it’s whispered everywhere.

Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.