Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
He will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth were a fool.
Full oft we see cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears; it looks ill, it eats drily.
War is no strife to the dark house and the detested wife.
Virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the canon.
To speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers, which is most infallible disobedience.
They say miracles are past.
There’s place, and means, for every man alive.
The hind that would be mated by the lion must die for love.
That you were made of is metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times found: by being ever kept, it is ever lost. ’Tis too cold a companion: away with ’t!
See that you come not to woo honour, but to wed it.
