We women can read men by their power to love
     We could row and ride and fish and shoot, and breed largely
     We dare not be weak if we would
     We were unarmed, and the spectacle was distressing
     We can’t hope to have what should be
     We have a system, not planned but grown
     We are chiefly led by hope
     We’re treated like old-fashioned ornaments! 
     Welcomed and lured on an adversary to wild outhitting
     Well, sir, we must sell our opium
     What ninnies call Nature in books
     When he’s a Christian instead of a Churchman
     Where love exists there is goodness
     Who cannot talk!—­but who can? 
     Without a single intimation that he loathed the task
     Wives are only an item in the list, and not the most important
     Women don’t care uncommonly for the men who love them
     Women must not be judging things out of their sphere
     Won’t do to be taking in reefs on a lee-shore
     Wonderment that one of her sex should have ideas
     Wooing a good man for his friendship
     World cannot pardon a breach of continuity
     You are not married, you are simply chained
     You’re talking to me, not to a gallery
     You’re talking to me, not to a gallery