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A feather for each wind that blows.
– William Shakespeare
Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.
You should answer very well to a whipping.
Your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French withered pears: it looks ill, it eats drily.
France is a dog-hole.
Scurvy, old, filthy, scurvy lord!
Methink’st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.
Virginity breeds mites, much like a cheese.
Is there no military policy, how virgins might blow up men?
I think thou wast created for men to breathe themselves upon thee.
He’s a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no one good quality.
She does abuse to our ears.
There’s no goodness in thy face.
The most infectious pestilence upon thee!
Go get thee hence, Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me Thou wouldst appear most ugly.
He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister.
Rogue, thou hast lived too long.
Were I his lady I would poison that vile rascal.
This woman’s an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure.
Hence, Horrible villain, or I’ll spurn thine eyes Like balls before me; I’ll unhair thy head, Thou shalt be whipped with wire, and stewed in brine, Smarting in lingering pickle.
I saw the man today, if man he be.
Think, and die.
A man who is the abstract of all faults That all men follow.
I will give thee bloody teeth.
Die a beggar.
I should take you for idleness itself.
No more light answers.
Drunkenness is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk.
Pray you stand farther from me.
Their tongues rot that speak against us.