The warfare between the unaroused male and female is constant and ferocious. Each blames the other for his loss of soul.

Men were valued by what they did, women by how they looked and then by what their husbands did, and all of life was arranged (or so we thought) from the outside in.

More men feel comfortable doing "public speaking," while more women feel comfortable doing "private" speaking.

The chivalrous man who holds a door open or signals a woman to go ahead of him when he's driving is negotiating both status and connection.

Men at most differ as heaven and earth, But women, worst and best, as heaven and hell.

There is trouble with a wife, but it's even worse with a woman who is not a wife.

While husbands and lovers in the stories [of the 14th century] are of all kinds, ranging from sympathetic to disgusting, women are invariably deceivers: inconstant, unscrupulous, quarrelsome, querulous, lecherous, shameless, although not necessarily all of these at once.

Woman is man's confusion.

There is nothing that disgusts a man like getting beaten at chess by a woman.

If a woman wants to hold a man, she has merely to appeal to what is worst in him. We make gods of men, and they leave us. Others make brutes of them and they fawn and are faithful.