What A Fool Honesty Is.

Few Things Loves Better Than To Abhor Himself.

Were Kisses All The Joys In Bed, One Woman Would Another Wed.

He Hath Not Eat Paper, As It Were; He Hath Not Drunk Ink; His Intellect Is Not Replenished; He Is Only An Animal, Only Sensible In The Duller Parts. (shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost, Iv)

He Jests At Scars That Never Felt A Wound.

How Easy It Is For The Proper-false In Woman's Waxen Hearts To Set Their Forms!