All the epigrams written against the little sex—for it is antiquated nowadays to say the fair sex—ought to be disarmed of their point and changed into madrigals of eulogy! All men ought to consider that the sole virtue of a woman is to love and that all women are prodigiously virtuous, and at that point to close the book and end their meditation.
A woman’s head is like a weathercock on the top of a house, which veers about at the slightest breeze.[La tête d’une femme est comme une girouette Au haut d’une maison, qui tourne au premier vent.]
A virtuous woman has in her heart one fibre less or one fibre more than other women; she is either stupid or sublime.