“For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,Than women's are. ...For women are as roses, whose fair flow'rBeing once display'd doth fall that very hour.Viola: And so they are; alas, that they are so!To die, even when they to perfection grow!”

“Let still woman takeAn elder than herself: so wears she to him,So sways she level in her husband's heart,For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,More longing, wavering, sooner to be lost and warn,Than women's are.”

“We must not be so ready to fancy ourselves intentionally injured. We must not expect a lively young man to be always so guarded and circumspect. It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does.”

“It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy admiration means more than it does.And men take care that they should.”

“‎Women fancy admiration means more than it does.”

“I waver, continually fly to the summit of the mountain, but cannot stay up there for more than a moment. Others waver too, but in lower regions, with greater strength; if they are in danger of falling, they are caught up by the kinsman who walks beside them for that purpose. But I waver on the heights; it is not death, alas, but the eternal torments of dying.”