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.

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

Uncertainty and expectation are the joys of life. Security is an insipid thing.

I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.

Beauty is the lover's gift.

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