Vanity Fair is a very vain, wicked, foolish place, full of all sorts of humbugs and falsenesses and pretensions.

Who was the blundering idiot who said 'fine words butter no parsnips'? Half the parsnips of society are served and rendered palatable with no other sauce.

A fool can no more see his own folly than he can see his ears.

Oh, those women! They nurse and cuddle their presentiments, and make darlings of their ugliest thoughts.

I never knew whether to pity or congratulate a man on coming to his senses.

Vanity is often the unseen spur.

Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin That never has known the barber's shear, All your wish is woman to win, This is the way that boys begin. Wait till you come to Forty Year.