Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, more longing, wavering, sooner lost and won, than women's are.

O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! Bow, stubborn knees! and, heart with strings of steel, be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.

Oh, that way madness lies; let me shun that.

Is she kind as she is fair?

Do not banish reason for inequality; but let your reason serve to make the truth appear where it seems hid, and hide the false seems true.

Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.