A coquette is like a recruiting sergeant, always on the lookout for fresh victims.
A girl's coquetry is of the simplest, she thinks that all is said when the veil is laid aside; a woman's coquetry is endless, she shrouds herself in veil after veil, she satisfies every demand of man's vanity, the novice responds but to one.
Coquetry is the champagne of love.
Envy is destroyed by true friendship, as coquetry by true love.
Love's greatest miracle is the curing of coquetry.
Coquetry is the art of successful deception.
Men always remember a woman who caused them concern and uneasiness.
Beauty is power; a smile is its sword.
Why does a man take it for granted that a girl who flirts with him wants him to kiss her - when, nine times out of ten, she only wants him to want to kiss her?
Women flirt to keep their stock high, men to get somewhere.
Coquetry is the essential characteristic, and the prevalent humor of women; but they do not all practice it, because the coquetry of some is restrained by fear or by reason.
Adornment, what a science! Beauty, what a weapon! Modesty, what elegance!
Coquetry, it's a triumph of the spirit over the senses.
The characteristic of coquettes is affectation governed by whim.
Don't spend time beating on a wall, hoping to transform it into a door.
Some people think luxury is the opposite of poverty. It is not. It is the opposite of vulgarity.
A widow is a fascinating being with the flavor of maturity, the spice of experience, the piquancy of novelty, the tang of practiced coquetry, and the halo of one man's approval.
A woman can be over dressed but never over elegant.
Some women flirt more with what they say, and some with what they do.
Women can never forgive me; they hate me, they feel that I am disarming them. I show them without their coquetry.
Coquetry whets the appetite; flirtation depraves it. Coquetry is the thorn that guards the rose - easily trimmed off when once plucked. Flirtation is like the slime on water-plants, making them hard to handle, and when caught, only to be cherished in slimy waters.
If you're a gifted flirt, talking about the price of eggs will do as well as any other subject.
Without vanity, without coquetry, without curiosity, in a word, without the fall, woman would not be woman. Much of her grace is in her frailty.
What necessity impels a writer who has produced fifty books to write still one more? Why this proliferation, this fear of being forgotten, this debased coquetry?
Women know not the whole of their coquetry.
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