I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me—I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war.
—Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron) (1788–1824) English Romantic Poet
Human brutes, like other beasts, find snares and poison in the provisions of life, and are allured by their appetites to their destruction.
—Jonathan Swift (1667–1745) Irish Satirist
The trouble with Ian is that he gets off with women because he can’t get on with them.
—Rosamond Lehmann (1901–90) Novelist, Translator
Slowly, but very deliberately, the brooding edifice of seduction, creaking and incongruous, came into being, a vast Heath Robinson mechanism, dually controlled by them and lumbering gloomily down vistas of triteness. With a sort of heavy-fisted dexterity the mutually adapted emotions of each of them became synchronized, until the unavoidable anti-climax was at hand.
—Anthony Powell (1905–2000) English Novelist, Memoirist
If sensuality were happiness, beasts were happier than men; but human felicity is lodged in the soul, not in the flesh.
—Seneca the Younger (Lucius Annaeus Seneca) (c.4 BCE–65 CE) Roman Stoic Philosopher, Statesman, Tragedian
The body of a sensualist is the coffin of a dead soul.
—Christian Nestell Bovee (1820–1904) American Writer, Aphorist
Man proposes, woman forecloses.
—Minna Antrim (1861–1950) American Writer, Epigrammist
When a woman wants a man and lusts after him, the lover need not bother to conjure up opportunities, for she will find more in an hour than we men could think of in a century.
A wise woman never yields by appointment. It should always be an unforeseen happiness.
—Stendhal (Marie-Henri Beyle) (1783–1842) French Writer
He in a few minutes ravished this fair creature, or at least would have ravished her, if she had not, by a timely compliance, prevented him.
—Henry Fielding (1707–54) English Novelist, Dramatist
She is a woman, therefore may be wooed; She is a woman, therefore may be won.
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616) British Playwright
When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?
—Oliver Goldsmith (1730–74) Irish Novelist, Playwright, Poet