I wasn't." "How about your temper ?" suggested Ophelia, meekly.
Xanthippe sniffed frigidly at this remark.
"I never should have gone crazy over a man if I'd remained unmarried forty thousand years," she retorted, severely.

"I married Socrates because I loved him and admired his sculpture; but when he gave up sculpture and became a thinker he simply tried me beyond all endurance, he was so thoughtless, with the result that, having ventured once or twice to show my natural resentment, I have been handed down to posterity as a shrew.

I've never complained, and I don't complain now; but when a woman is married to a philosopher who is so taken up with his studies that when he rises in the morning he doesn't look what he is doing, and goes off to his business in his wife's clothes, I think she is entitled to a certain amount of sympathy." "And yet you wish to wear his," persisted Ophelia.
"Turn about is fair-play," said Xanthippe.

"I've suffered so much on his account that on the principle of averages he deserves to have a little drop of bitters in his nectar." "You are simply the victim of man's deceit," said Elizabeth, wishing to mollify the now angry Xanthippe, who was on the verge of tears.

"I understood men, fortunately, and so never married.