Women have no desires, only affectations. Indeed, women are the children of larger growth. Rather I consider woman to be a beautiful romantic animal. Who should be adorned in pearls and feathers, pearls and diamonds! Apart from my wife of course. Who will insist upon attempting to learn Greek! So very unbecoming, I can hardly tolerate her company at the breakfast table. Why do they do it? Oh, every woman is the direst contradiction. And frankly, most women have no characters at all. Present company excepted of course! Oooh! The lady is aflame... And silent! Perfect! Gentlemen, I find it strange. You are poets, each one of you and speak of your muse in the feminine and yet you appear to feel neither tenderness nor respect towards your wives, nor to all females in general. Madam! I have only the highest regard and purest respect for females. I find no evidence of that sentiment in your conversation. Conversation is a place where one plays with ideas, my dear lady. The one forges them quite alone. Right so. Quite. Quite. The intellect is a solitary place. And therefore quite unsuitable a terrain for females who must discover their natures through the guidance of a father or husband. And is she has neither? Then... however charming she may be dear lady... she is lost.