orators, authors, artists, singers, all appeal to women. They may not
love them personally, but it affords them great pleasure to be loved by
them. There is in every woman a craving for a man superior to herself,
and that is why women who try to dominate men are such dismal failures.

* * * * *

To a woman love is sacred, her food, her life.

Never have a sneer at a woman or at a child. Whenever you feel
sarcastic, exercise your talents on something else.

Never profane the words, 'I love you'; they may seal the fate of a
woman; but when you have uttered these three words in great
earnestness, and the woman has answered with that great religious,
almost sad, smile that Victor Hugo called 'the smile of angels,' when,
in a word, she is yours, place her on a pedestal, on an altar, and
worship her. The world has nothing better to offer you.

* * * * *

A man can cure a woman of a man. Nothing can cure a man of a woman,
unless it be that woman herself.

While on the subject of love and tender relations, let me ask a
question of my lady readers: Which would you rather know, that the man
you love had broken his allegiance to you, but kept his heart faithful,
or that he had lost his heart with another woman, but kept his
'monastic' vows? A clever woman once answered me in the following
manner: 'If that man was my husband, I would much rather know that his
heart had gone from me for a time. If I was not married to him, I would
prefer to know that his heart had remained faithful.'

Only I must warn you that if a man put this question to his wife, she
would probably say to him at once: 'Jack, which of the two are you
guilty of?'

'In ninety cases out of a hundred,' says Paul Bourget, 'for a woman to
play her heart in the game of love is to play at cards with a sharper,
and gold against counterfeit pieces.' How true! for when the game is
over, society (which ought to be ashamed of itself in its treatment of
men and women) says of the man, 'Lucky dog!' but mocks at the woman who
has given way, puts her outside the pale when she forgets herself for
the moment, and turns away from her when she gives way to despair. Poor
woman! She cannot rebel, for if man is the cause of her downfall, it is
woman who becomes her bitterest enemy. There is no pity in the breast
of a woman for the woman who has fallen, unless she herself has had the
same sad expe