Modesty once lost, never returns into favour.
Goldsmith tells us, that when lovely woman stoops to folly, she has nothing to do but to die; and when she stoops to be disagreeable, it is equally to be recommended as a clearer of ill-fame.
Social taboos are shy like virtue; once lost, there is no remedy
Every harlot was a virgin once.
There was a time when Patience ceased to be a virtue. It was long ago.
O! lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, Lost to the noble sallies of the soul! Who think it solitude to be alone.
The fact that we still live well cannot ease the feeling that we no longer live nobly.
She knew that the horse, born to serve nobly, had waited in vain for someone noble to serve. His spirit knew that nobility had gone out of men.
And Modesty, who, when she goes, Is gone for ever.
