The glory of my name increases my shame. Less known by mortals, I could better escape their eyes.

I have pushed virtue to outright brutality.

What does it matter if, by chance, a little vile blood be spilled?

I have loved him too much not to hate

Can a faith that does nothing be called sincere?

She wavers, she hesitates; in one word — she is a woman.

Sun, I come to see you for the last time.