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

Words are the weak support of cold indifference; love has no language to be heard.

Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.

There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased, They scarcely come inclining to be pleased: And sure he must have more than mortal Skill, Who please one against his Will.

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

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

Turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but a poet; for a poet is worse, more servile, timorous and fawning than any I have named.