Hath not a woman eyes? Hath not she hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with
the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject
to the same diseases, heal’d by the same means,
warm’d and cool’d by the same winter and summer
as a man is? If you prick us, do we not bleed?
If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us,
do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
(The Merchant of Venice, Act III, scene I)
-Worse than the injury of betrayal is the indifference to the existence of her whom you loved. -NG