Poets, like whores, are only hated by each other.
Women of quality are so civil, you can hardly distinguish love from good breeding.
Wit has as few true judges as painting.
Poets, like friends to whom you are in debt, you hate.
Conversation augments pleasure and diminishes pain by our having shares in either; for silent woes are greatest, as silent satisfaction leas; since sometimes our pleasure would be none but for telling of it, and our grief insupportable but for participation.
Your women of honor, as you call 'em , are only chary of their reputations, not their persons, and 'tis scandal they would avoid, not men.