You know who had a decent grasp of Game and understood its essential truth? Shakespeare. Motherfuckin Shakespeare. His Sonnet 130 (h/t @martel2112):
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Here’s an analysis of Sonnet 130. CH take: Sonnet 130 is basically one long anti-white knight/beta male pussy pedestal polisher neg. “Her eyes may not be pearls, especially the left one.”
There are innumerable examples of White European Game in Shakespeare’s works that resonate with today’s more scientific/field tested Game knowledge. Too many to list here. He should probably have his own ‘Great Men on Game’ category. The man knew women, and knew how they loved.
The poets always precede the professors. Unless they’re slam poets, who precede only Culture Death.
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