Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. - William Congreve

Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned,

O, nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion: it shows the foot to advantage, and furnishes with blushes, and recomposing airs beyond comparison. — Lady Wishfort