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Thou strange piece of wild nature!
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Our hours in love have wings; in absence, crutches.
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Tea! Thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid, thou innocent pretence for bringing the wicked of both sexes together in a morning; thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart-opening, wink-tipping cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life, let me fall prostrate thus, and . . . adore thee.
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Our hours in love have wings in absence, crutches.
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We shall find no fiend in hell can match the fury of a disappointed woman,scorned, slighted, dismissed without a parting pang.
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