What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps; with it alone, she lives.

I hate a woman who offers herself because she ought to do so, and, cold and dry, thinks of her sewing when she's making love

Women love always: when earth slips from them, they take refuge in heaven.

I got nervous at bulls and eagles,
Trying to figure what shape Zeus might take for sex
When it could be your turn next. But now I don't care any longer,
I've come to my senses, your profile leaves me cold.
Why am I different? you ask. I'll tell you. Because you keep nagging
For presents. That's what turns me off.

A woman is always buying something

What one beholds of a woman is the least part of her