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But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shining lights and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficulty brought down to the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers his peace of mind to his glory, in subduing one of that exalted class, would have nothing to say to them.

Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till he came to be what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at the height of his ambition; nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to be gloomy, till he had completed his wishes upon the most charming creature in the world.
And yet why say I completed? when the will, the content, is wanting—and I have still views before me of obtaining that?

Have I not told you, that my beloved is a great observer of the eyes? She once quoted upon me a text, (Note: Eccles. xxvi. The whoredom of a woman may be known in her haughty looks and eye-lids, Watch over an impudent eye, and marvel not if it trespass against thee.)

This is certain, that I shall never find a woman so well suited to my taste as Miss Clarissa Harlowe. I only wish that I may have such a lady as her to comfort and adorn my setting sun. I have often thought it very unhappy for us both, that so excellent a creature sprang up a little too late for my setting out, and a little too early in my progress, before I think of returning.

Miss Howe, Jack, is a charming girl. She has no reason to quarrel with beauty! Didst ever see her?—Too much fire and spirit in her eye, indeed, for a girl! But that's no fault with a man that can lower that fire and spirit at pleasure, and I know I am the man that can.

I never, never can forgive him, nor he me.—Do you think, sir, I would have gone so far as I have gone, if I had intended ever to draw with him in one yoke?—I left behind me such a letter

Women's tongues were licensed, I was going to say; but my conscience would not let me call her a woman; nor to use to her so vulgar a phrase. I could only rave by my motions, lift up my eyes, spread my hands, rub my face, pull my wig, and look like a fool. Indeed, I had a great mind to run mad. Had I been alone with her, I would; and she should have taken consequences.

[…] for there is beauty in everything she says and does!—Beauty in her passion!—Beauty in her tears!

What's a tender heart good for?—Who can be happy that has a feeling heart?—And yet, thou'lt say, that he, who has it not, must be a tiger, and no man.

How does she look?
Better than could be expected from yesterday's fatigue, and last night's ill rest.
These tender doves know not, till put to it, what they can bear; especially when engaged in love affairs; and their attention wholly engrossed. But the sex love busy scenes. Still life is their aversion. A woman will create a storm, rather than be without one.

Once more wilt thou wonderingly question—All this pains for a single girl?
Yes, Jack—But is not this girl a CLARISSA?
And to be sure I shall have her, if I resolve upon it.

How does this damned love unman me!—but nobody ever loved as I love!—It is even increased by her unworthy flight, and my disappointment. Ungrateful creature, to fly from a passion thus ardently flaming! which, like the palm, rises the more for being depressed and slighted.

The dear creature herself once told me, that there was a strange mixture in my mind. I have been called Devil and Beelzebub, between the two proud beauties: I must indeed be a Beelzebub, if I had not some tolerable qualities.
But, the suffering time of this excellent creature is her shining time. Hitherto she has done nothing but shine.

[…] there is not so much wit in wickedness as we had flattered ourselves there was. And after all, I have been of opinion ever since that conversation, that the wit of all the rakes and libertines I ever conversed with, consists mostly in saying bold and shocking things, with such courage as shall make the modest blush, the impudent laugh, and the ignorant stare.

We talked of wit:

A thousand diff’rent shapes it bears;
Comely in thousand shapes appears.
'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest,
Admired with laughter at a feast.
Nor florid talk, which must this title gain:
The proofs of wit for ever must remain.
Much less can that have any place,
At which a virgin hides her face.
Such dross the fire must purge away:
—‘Tis just
The author blush there, where the reader must.

What's the matter with me!—Whence this dew-drop!—A tear!—As I hope to be saved, it is a tear, Jack!—Very ready methinks!—Only on reciting!—But her lovely image was before me, in the very attitude she spoke the words—and, indeed, at the time she spoke them, these lines of Shakespeare came into my head:

“Let me perish, Belford, if I would not forego the brightest diadem in the world, for the pleasure of seeing a twin Lovelace at each charming breast, drawing from it his first sustenance; the pious task, for physical reasons, continued for one month and no more!”

But why makes she every inch of her person thus sacred?—So near the time too (to be married), that she must suppose, that all will be my own by deed of purchase and settlement?
She has read, no doubt, of the art of the eastern monarchs, who sequester themselves from the eyes of their subjects, in order to excite their adoration, when, upon some solemn occasions, they think fit to appear in public.

My cheek reclined on her shoulder—kissing her hands by turns. Rather bashfully than angrily reluctant, her hands sought to be withdrawn; her shoulder avoiding my reclined cheek—apparently loath, and more loath to quarrel with me; her downcast eye confessing more than her lips could utter. Now, surely, thought I, is my time to try if she can forgive a still bolder freedom than I had ever yet taken.

We have held, that women have no souls. I am a very Turk in this point, and willing to believe they have not. And if so, to whom shall I be accountable for what I do to them? Nay, if souls they have, as there is no sex in etherials, nor need of any, what plea can a lady hold of injuries done her in her lady-state, when there is an end of her lady-ship?

Can education have stronger force in a woman's heart than nature?—Sure it cannot. But, if it can, how entirely right are parents to cultivate their daughters' minds, and to inspire them with notions of reserve and distance to our sex, and indeed to make them think highly of their own! for pride is an excellent substitute, let me tell thee, where virtue shines not out, as the sun in its own unborrowed lustre.

What! How! When!—and all the monosyllables of surprise.
[Within parentheses let me tell thee, that I have often thought, that the little words in the republic of letters, like the little folks in a nation, are the most significant. The trisyllables, and the rumblers of syllables more than three, are but the good-for-little magnates.]

But I am mad with love—yet eternal will be the distance, at the rate I go on; now fire, now ice, my soul is continually upon the hiss, as I may say. In vain, however, is the trial to quench—what, after all, is unquenchable.

It is a long lane that has no turning.—Do not despise me for my proverbs—you know I was always fond of them;& if you had been so too,it would have been the better for you,let me tell you.I dare swear,the fine lady you are so likely to be soon happy with,will be far from despising them;for I am told,that she writes well,& that all her letters are full of sentences.God convert you!for nobody but He & this lady can

Knowest thou not, moreover, that man is the woman's sun; woman is the man's earth?—How dreary, how desolate, the earth, that the sun shines not upon!

But what a heap of stuff have I written!—How have I been run away with!—By what?—Canst thou say by what?—O thou lurking varletess, CONSCIENCE! is it thou that hast thus made me of party against myself? How camest thou in? In what disguise, thou egregious haunter of my more agreeable hours?—Stand thou, with fate, but neuter in this controversy:

But with what can I tempt her?—Riches she was born to and despises, knowing what they are. JEWELS and ornaments, to a mind so much a jewel and so richly set, her worthy consciousness will not let her value. Love—If she be susceptible of love, it seems to be so much under the direction of prudence, that one unguarded moment, I fear, cannot be reasonably hoped for;

Hear me out, madam, I have a thousand things to say,to talk of,relating to our present & future prospects;but when I want to open my whole soul to you,you are always contriving to keep me at a distance.You make me inconsistent with myself.Your heart is set upon delays.You must have views that you will not own.Tell me,madam,I conjure you to tell me,subterfuge or reserve,in what light am I to appear to you in future?

For what are words, but the body and dress of thought? And is not the mind of a person strongly indicated by outward dress?

It is a difficult thing, I believe, sometimes, for a young creature that is able to deliberate with herself, to know when she loves, or when she hates; but I am resolved, as much as possible, to be determined both in my hatred and love by actions, as they make the man worthy or unworthy.