What great men have said about women
Chapter 1
Produced by Ted Garvin, Hemantkumar N Garach and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
TEN CENT POCKET SERIES NO. 77
Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius
WHAT GREAT MEN HAVE SAID ABOUT WOMEN
HALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANY GIRARD. KANSAS
SHAKESPEARE.
Where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
_Love's Labour's Lost, A. 4, S. 3._
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination; And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparel'd in more precious habit, More moving-delicate, and full of life, Into the eye and prospect of his soul.
_Much Ado About Nothing, A. 4, S. 1._
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, Shall win my love.
_Taming of the Shrew, A. 4, S. 2._
Win her with gifts, if she respect not words; Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3, S. 1._
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you, Have too a woman's heart: which ever yet Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty.
_Henry VIII., A. 2, S. 3._
'Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud; 'Tis virtue that doth make them most admired.
_Henry VI., Pt. 3, A. 1, S. 4._
From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive; They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world.
_Love's Labour's Lost, A. 4, S. 3._
Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low: an excellent thing in woman.
_King Lear, A. 5, S. 3._
Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman's nay doth stand for naught?
_The Passionate Pilgrim, Line 14._
Thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, And make it halt behind her.
_The Tempest, A. 4. S. 1._
Good name in man and woman, Is the immediate jewel of their souls.
_Othello, A. 3, S. 3._
Women are soft, pitiful, and flexible.
_Henry VI., Pt. 3, A. 1. S. 4._
Such duty as the subject owes the prince, Even such a woman oweth to her husband; And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour, And not obedient to his honest will, What is she, but a contending rebel, And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
_Taming of the Shrew, A. 5, S. 2._
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.
_Antony and Cleopatra, A. 2, S. 2._
She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.
_Henry VI., Pt. 1, A. 5, S. 3._
Say, that she rail; why, then I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale; Say, that she frown; I'll say, she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew; Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word; Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
_Taming of the Shrew, A. 2, S. 1._
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces; ... Say they have angels' faces. That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3. S. 1._
Bethink thee on her virtues that Surmount, And natural graces that extinguish art; * * * * * And, which is more, she is not so divine, So full-replete with choice of all delights, But, with as humble lowliness of mind, She is content to be at your command.
_Henry VI., Pt. 1, A. 5, S. 5._
Let still the woman take An elder than herself; so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart. For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn. Than women's are.
_Twelfth Night, A. 2, S. 4.
'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
_Twelfth Night, A. 1, S. 5._
Fresh tears Stood on her cheeks, as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
_Titus Andronicus, A. 3, S. 1._
Patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once; her smiles and tears Were like a better day: those happy smilets, That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know What guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, As pearls from diamonds dropp'd.
_King Lear, A. 4, S. 2._
She is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 2, S. 4._
A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man In time of action.
_Troilus and Cressida, A. 3, S. 3._
A woman's face, with Nature's own hand painted, Hast thou ... A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false woman's fashion: An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth.
_Sonnet XX._
No other but a woman's reason; I think him so, because I think him so.
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 1, S. 2._
The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good: the goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace being the soul of your complexion, should keep the body of it ever fair.
_Measure for Measure, A. 3, S. 1._
If ladies be but young and fair, They have the gift to know it.
_As You Like It, A. 2, S. 7._
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more love in you: If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone; * * * * * Take no repulse, whatever she doth say; For "_Get you gone_," she doth not mean "_Away!_"
_Two Gentlemen of Verona, A. 3, S. 1._
She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pin'd in thought, And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She saw, like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
_Twelfth Night, A. 2, S. 4._
She shall be A pattern to all ... living with her.... Holy and heavenly thoughts shall still counsel her; She shall be lov'd and fear'd. Her own shall bless her.... ... Those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour.... ... Yet a virgin, A most unspotted lily shall she pass To the ground, and all shall mourn her.
_Henry VIII., A. 5, S. 4._
JOHN MILTON.
Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
When I approach Her loveliness, so absolute she seems And in herself complete, so well to know Her own, that what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuest, discreetest, best.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
Nothing lovelier can be found In woman than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote.
_Paradise Lost, Book 9._
For contemplation he and valour form'd; For softness she and sweet attractive grace; He for God only, she for God in him.
_Paradise Lost, Book 4._
Among daughters of men ... Many are in each region passing fair As the noon sky; more like to goddesses Than mortal creatures; graceful and discreet; ... Persuasive ... Such objects have the power to soften and tame Severest temper.
_Paradise Regained, Book 2._
Ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence.
_L'Allegro._
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined.
_Sonnet._
O fairest of Creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excell'd Whatever can to sight or thought be form'd, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet!
_Paradise Lost, Book 9._
Curiosity, inquisitive, importune Of secrets, then with like infirmity To publish them, both common female faults.
_Samson Agonistes._
In argument with men, a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
_Samson Agonistes._
Thus it will befall Him who to worth in woman overturning Lets her will rule; restraint she will not brook, And left to herself, if evil thence ensue, She first his weak indulgence will accuse.
_Paradise Lost, Book 9._
Daughter of God ... I, from the influence of thy looks, receive Access in every virtue: and in thy sight More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking on. Shame to be overcome or overreach'd. Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite. Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel When I am present, and thy trial choose With me, best witness of thy virtue tried?
_Paradise Lost, Book 9._
By his countenance he seem'd Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which Eve Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight, With lowliness majestic from her seat, And grace that won who saw to wish her stay, Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers, To visit how they prosper'd, bud and bloom, Her nursery; they at her coming sprung, And, touch'd by her fair tendance gladlier grew.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear; Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape.
_Comus._
A smile that glow'd Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
She has a hidden strength ... ... The strength of Heaven, It may be termed her own. 'Tis chastity ... chastity.... She that has that, is clad in complete steel; And, like a quiver'd Nymph with arrows keen, May trace huge forests, and unharbour'd heaths, ... and sandy perilous wilds ... She may pass on with unblench'd majesty Be it not done in pride, or in presumption.
_Comus._
O Woman, in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue: summon all, For God toward thee hath done His part, do thine.
_Paradise Lost, Book 9._
What higher in her society thou find'st Attractive, human, rational, love still; In loving thou dost well, in passion not Wherein true love consists not.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, Who guards her, or with her the worst endures.
_Paradise Lost, Book 9._
Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat Build in her loveliest, and create an awe About her, as a guard angelic placed.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
Those graceful acts, Those thousand decencies that daily flow From all her words and actions mix'd with love And sweet compliance, which declare unfeign'd Union of mind, or in us both one soul; Harmony to behold in wedded pair More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure. * * * * * With even step and musing gait; And looks commercing with the skies, Thy wrapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
_Il Penseroso._
Innocence and virgin modesty Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth, That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired The more desirable.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
Lady, thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light. And hope that reaps not shame.
_Sonnet._
A creature ... ... So lovely fair, That what seem'd fair in all the world seem'd now Mean, or in her summ'd up, in her contain'd.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
All things from her air inspired The spirit of love and amorous delight.
_Paradise Lost, Book 8._
It is for homely features to keep home-- They had their name thence: coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the housewife's wool.
_Comus._
With dispatchful looks in haste She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent. What choice to choose for delicacy best, What order, so contrived, as not to mix Tastes, not well join'd, inelegant, but bring Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change.
_Paradise Lost, Book 5._
I do not think my sister ... ... So unprincipled in Virtue's book And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, As that single want of light and noise Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, And put them into misbecoming plight. Virtue could see to do what Virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude: Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings. That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair'd.
_Comus._
LORD BYRON.
Around her shone The nameless charms unmark'd by her alone: The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonized the whole-- And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!
_The Bride of Abydos, Canto 1._
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto 1._
She was a form of life and light, That, seen, became a part of sight; And rose wher'er I turned mine eye, The morning-star of memory!
_The Giaour._
You know, or ought to know, enough of women, Since you have studied, them so steadily, That what they ask in aught that touches on The heart, is dearer to their feelings or Their fancy than the whole external world.
_Sardanapalus, A. 4._
Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.
_Corsair, Canto 2._
Who hath not proved how feebly words essay To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray? Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess The might--the majesty of loveliness?
_Bride of Abydos, Canto 1._
So bright the tear in beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry; So sweet the blush of bashfulness, Even pity scarce can wish it less!
_The Bride of Abydos, Canto 1._
Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aërial bow Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth Mounting, at times to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning.
_Don Juan, Canto 1._
Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, Is woman's whole existence.
_Don Juan, Canto 1._
Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet; Her very nod was not an inclination; There was a self-will even in her small feet, As though they were quite conscious of her station;-- * * * * * But nature teaches more than power can spoil, And when a strong although a strange sensation Moves--female hearts are such a genial soil For kinder feelings, whatsoe'er their nation. They naturally pour the "wine and oil," Samaritans in every situation.
_Don Juan, Canto 5._
The earth has nothing like a she epistle, And hardly heaven--because it never ends. I love the mystery of a female missal, Which like a creed ne'er says all it intends.
_Don Juan, Canto 13._
Her chief resource was in her own high spirit, Which judged mankind at their due estimation; And for coquetry, she disdain'd to wear it: Secure of admiration, its impression Was faint, as of an every-day possession.
_Don Juan, Canto 13._
An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue, Is no great matter, so 'tis in request. 'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue, The kindest may be taken as a test. The fair sex should be always fair; and no man Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman.
_Beppo._
She was not violently lively, but Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking; Her eyes were not too sparkling, yet, half shut, They put beholders in a tender taking.
_Don Juan, Canto 6._
The very first Of human life must spring from woman's breast, Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, When men have shrunk from the ignoble care Of watching the last hour of him who led them.
_Sardanapalus, A. 1._
Soft, as the memory of buried love; Pure, as the prayer which childhood wafts above Was she.
_Bride of Abydos; Canto 1._
She was a soft landscape of mild earth, Where all was harmony, and calm and quiet, Luxuriant, budding; cheerful without mirth, Which, if not happiness, is more nigh it Than are your mighty passions and so forth, Which some call "the sublime": I wish they'd try it; I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.
_Don Juan, Canto 6._
The tender blue of that large loving eye.
_The Corsair, Canto 1._
Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd, Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips; To some she whispers, others speaks aloud; To some she curtsies, and to some she dips; Complains of warmth, and this complaint avow'd, Her lover brings the lemonade,--she sips: She then surveys, condemns, but pities still Her dearest friends for being drest so ill. One had false curls, another too much paint, A third--where did she buy that frightful turban? A fourth's so pale she fears she's going to faint, A fifth's look's vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban, A sixth's white silk has got a yellow tint, A seventh's thin muslin surely will be her bane, And lo! an eighth appears,--I'll see no more! For fear, like Banquo's kings, they reach a score.
_Beppo._
She was blooming still, had made the best Of time, and time return'd the compliment, And treated her genteely, so that, drest, She look'd extremely well where'er she went; A pretty woman is a welcome guest, And her brow a frown had rarely bent; Indeed she shone all smiles, and seem'd to flatter Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her.
_Beppo._
I think, with all due deference To the fair _single_ part of the creation, That married ladies should preserve the preference In tête-à-tête or general conversation-- Because they know the world, and are at ease, And being natural, naturally please.
_Beppo._
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
_Hebrew Melodies._
I saw thee weep--the big bright tear Came o'er that eye of blue: And then methought it did appear A violet dropping dew; I saw thee smile--the sapphire's blaze Beside thee ceased to shine, It could not match the living rays That fill'd that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive A deep and mellow die, Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o'er the heart.
_Hebrew Melodies._
I have observed your sex, once roused to wrath, Are timidly vindictive to a pitch Of perseverance, which I would not copy.
_Sardanapalus, A. 2._
She was pensive more than melancholy, And serious more than pensive, and serene, It may be, more than either ... The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly Unconscious, albeit turn'd of quick seventeen, That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall; She never thought about herself at all.
_Don Juan, Canto 6. _
A learned lady, famed For every branch of every science known-- In every Christian language ever named, With virtues equall'd by her wit alone. She made the cleverest people quite ashamed, And even the good with inward envy groan, Finding themselves so very much exceeded In their own way by all the things that she did.
_Don Juan, Canto 1._
'Tis pity learned virgins ever wed With persons of no sort of education, Or gentlemen who, though well-born and bred, Grow tired of scientific conversation: * * * * * Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?
_Don Juan, Canto 1._
What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger Is woman? what a whirlwind is her head, And what a whirlpool full of depth and danger Is all the rest about her! whether wed, Or widow, maid, or mother, she can change her Mind like the wind; whatever she has said Or done, is light to what she'll say or do;-- The oldest thing on record, and yet new!
_Don Juan, Canto 9._
Round her she made an atmosphere of life, The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes, They were so soft and beautiful, and rife With all we can imagine of the skies;-- * * * * * Her overpowering presence made you feel, It would not be idolatry to kneel.
_Don Juan, Canto 3._
Through her eye the Immortal shone; * * * * * Her eyes' dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But gaze on that of the gazelle, It will assist thy fancy well; As large, as languishingly dark, But soul beamed forth in every spark That darted from beneath the lid, Bright as the jewel of Giamschid, Yea, soul!
_The Giaour._
So--this feminine farewell Ends as such partings end, in _no_ departure.
_Sardanapalus, A. 4._
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Even the most simple and unsuspicious of the female sex have (God bless them!) an instinctive sharpness of perception in love matters, which sometimes goes the length of observing partialities that never existed, but rarely misses to detect such as pass actually under their observation.--_Waverley._
Her accents stole On the dark visions of their soul, And bade their mournful musings fly, Like mist before the zephyr's sigh.
_Rokeby, Canto 4._