There is no woman’s sides.
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion,
As love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart
So big, to hold so much, they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be call’d appetite,
No motion of the Liver, but the Pallate,
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt,
But mine is all [A]s hungry as the Sea,
And can digest as much…, make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me,
And that I owe Olivia.
~William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night  (Note: Out of context, this is actually referring to heart/capacity for love)