Like the bee its sting, the promiscuous leave behind them in each encounter something of themselves by which they are made to suffer.

Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

Loving everybody is polygamy. I care for no friend who loves his enemy equally well.

My aunt could not have been the lone romantic who gave up everything for sex. Women in the old China did not choose. Some man had commanded her to lie with him and be his secret evil.

Accursed from birth they be Who seek to find monogamy, Pursuing it from bed to bed- I think they would be better dead.