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Who drives an ass and leads a whore,
Hath pain and sorrow evermore.—Anonymous
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For the lips of a strange woman drop as a honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: But her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death; her steps take hold on hell.—Bible, Proverb 5:3-5
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Walk with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go.—Bible, Isaiah 3:16
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The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet,
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.—BLAKE, Auguries of Innocence
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For no man tells his son the truth
For fear he speak of sin;
And every, man cries, "Woe, alas!"
And every man goes in.—DANA BURNET, Sisters of the Cross of Shames
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Sampson with his strong Body, had a weak Head, or he would not have laid it in a Harlot's lap.—FRANKLIN, Poor Richard
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Wanton look and twinkling, Laughing and tickling,
Open breast and singing,
These without lying
Are tokens of whoring.—HAZLITT, English Proverbs
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In calling a prostitute an "unfortunate" the Victorians wished to imply that a prostitute was someone who had invested in the wrong stock, in spite of the advice of more experienced investors.—HUGH KINGSMILL, Matthew Arnold
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Once a whore, and ever a whore.—HENRY PARROT, Laquei Ridiculosi
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And thought the nation ne'er would thrive
Till all the whores were burnt alive.—MATTHEW PRIOR, Paulo Purganti
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A woman that paints puts up a bill that she is to let.—Proverb
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In silk and scarlet walks many a harlot.—Proverb
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A young whore, an old saint.—Proverb
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No, he hath enjoy'd her:
She hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. .. .
She hath been colted by him.—SHAKESPEARE, Cymbeline
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I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that.—SHAKESPEARE, Cymbeline
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Ever your fresh whore and your powder'd bawd.—SHAKESPEARE, Measure for Measure
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Your whores, sir, being members of my occupation, used painting.—SHAKESPEARE, Measure for Measure
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A common stale.—SHAKESPEARE, Much Ado About Nothing
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A housewife that by selling her desires
Buys herself bread and clothes.—SHAKESPEARE, Othello
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Was this fair paper, this most goodly book,
Made to write "whore" upon?—SHAKESPEARE, Othello
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If to preserve this vessel for my lord
From any Other foul unlawful touch
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none.—SHAKESPEARE, Othello
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I cannot say "whore":
It does abhor me now I speak the word;
To do the act that might the addition earn
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me.—SHAKESPEARE, Othello
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This is the fruit of whoring.—SHAKESPEARE, Othello
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Be whores still;
And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,
Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up.—SHAKESPEARE, Tinton of Athens
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I never heard she was a naughty pack.—SWIFT, Polite Conversation
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Indeed the profession she followed was one of those that emphasize the dim notion that lies at the back of many minds: the notion that we are not necessary to anyone, that attachments weave and unweave at the mercy of separation, satiety and experience. The loneliest associations are those that pretend to intimacy.—THORNTON WILDER, The Woman of Andros
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When dying sinners, to blot out their score,
Bequeath the church the leavings of a whore.—EDWARD YOUNG, Love of Fame
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The whore is proud her beauties are the dread
Of peevish virtue, and the marriage-bed.—EDWARD YOUNG, Love of Fame