Pickup is a lie. Money is a lie. Fame is a lie. Having sex with hot models is a fucking lie. Pickup is a fucking scam product if you treat it as the one thing to make you happy, as the one thing to finally make yourself acceptable, as the one thing to finally feel like you are a good man. An attractive man. That's a fucking lie? Okay. It's not a thing that brings you happiness if you don't learn how to value happiness in where it actually is.
He that will win his dame must doAnd with the other pull her home.
She that with poetry is won,No more than on the thing they lean.
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise.
Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true, The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
And whispering, "I will ne'er consent"—consented.
There is a tide in the affairs of womenWhich, taken at the flood, leads—God knows where.
Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen. Look yes last night, and yet say No to-day?"
"Chops and Tomata Sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Chops! Gracious heavens! and Tomata Sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these?
If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning.
Why don't you speak for yourself, John?
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth,That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.
Lightly from fair to fair he flew,For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
Most fair,And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
She's beautiful and therefore to be woo'd:She is a woman, therefore to be won.
Be merry, and employ your chiefest thoughtsAs shall conveniently become you there.
Wooing thee, I found thee of more valueThat now I aim at.
We cannot fight for love, as men may do;We should be woo'd and were not made to woo.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, To one thing constant never.
I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dAnd that would woo her.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd?Was ever woman in this humour won?
O gentle Romeo,So thou wilt woo: but else, not for the world.
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;She is a woman, therefore may be won.
Women are angels, wooing:Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is.
Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;More than quick words do move a woman's mind.
Never give her o'er;For why, the fools are mad if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say;If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Say that upon the altar of her beautyThat may discover such integrity.
Thrice happy's the wooing that's not long a-doing,So much time is saved in the billing and cooing.
Why don't the men propose, mamma? Why don't the men propose?
'Yes,' I answered you last night; Will not look the same by day.
Alas! to seize the moment They cannot seek his hand.
Woo the fair one when around Woo the timid maiden.
Duncan Gray cam here to woo, Ha, ha! the wooing o't!
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wanWill whyles do mair.
The landlady and Tam grew graciousWi' favours secret, sweet and precious.
Blessed is the wooingThat is not long a-doing.
How often in the summer-tide, Across the fields to Anne.
'Tis enough—And one refusal no rebuff.
Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
Never wedding, ever wooing, Wed or cease to woo.
So mourn'd the dame of Ephesus her Love,Told his soft Tale, and was a thriving Wooer.
Faint heart hath been a common phrase, faire ladie never wives.
And when with envy Time transported And I'll go wooing in my boys.
Ah, Foole! faint heart faire lady n'ere could win.
Perhaps if you address the ladyShe may deign to look on you.
If doughty deeds my lady please, Though ne'er another trow me.
I'll woo her as the lion woos his brides.
The surest way to hit a woman's heart is to take aim kneeling.
Follow a shadow, it still flies you,Styled but the shadows of us men?
There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, Or the way of a man with a maid.
A fool there was and he made his prayer (Even as you and I!)
The nightingales among the sheltering boughsThey won their mates.
Come live in my heart and pay no rent.
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat, But hern went pity-Zekle.
Whaur hae ye been a' day, Just come frae her mammy.
I will now court her in the conqueror's style;"Come, see, and overcome."
He kissed her cold corpse a thousand times o'er,And Villikins and Dinah lie buried in one grave.
And every shepherd tells his taleUnder the hawthorn in the dale.
That you are in a terrible taking, Indeed is too mellow for me.
Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide:He comes too near that comes to be denied.
If I speak to thee in friendship's name, Thou say'st I speak too boldly.
'Tis sweet to think that where'er we rove We've but to make love to the lips we are near.
Happy Mary Anerly, looking O so fair,Looks into your trusting face very tenderly.
I sat with Doris, the Shepherd maiden;And shadows stealing for hours and hours.
Ye shall know my breach of promise.
In part to blame is she,He comes too neere, that comes to be denide.
Ah, whither shall a maiden flee, With hope perseverant, still renews!
They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.
The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.
But in vain did she conjure him And but one to bid him go.
It was a happy age when a man might have wooed his wench with a pair of kid leather gloves, a silver thimble, or with a tawdry lace; but now a velvet gown, a chain of pearl, or a coach with four horses will scarcely serve the turn.
Wooed, and married, and a',That was wooed, and married, and a'?
A pressing lover seldom wants success,And wastes a ten years' siege before one town.
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may, So dying live, and living do adore her.
Full little knowest thou that hast not tried,To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.
Quiet, Robin, quiet!Forever buzzing at your lady's face.
When Venus said "Spell no for me," We spell it Y-E-S."0'0