Secrets are pleasant to each child of Eve

Love has forc'd Heroes to forget their valour, and Philosophers their systems—no wonder he shou'd make a Woman forget her wrinkles.

Five minutes! Zounds! I have been five minutes too late all my life-time!

Your great spirits are mere Jack-a-lanterns in the brain—they dance about, shine, and make vagaries—while those who possess happiness, soberly and quietly enjoy their treasure.

His ardent looks—his sighs—his consusion—his respectful attentions, have a thousand times profess'd the strongest passion—Surely, a man cannot in honour, be exculpated, who by such methods defrauds a Woman of her heart.

But what is Woman?—only one of Nature's agreeable blunders.

Vanity, like murder, will out.