Every man--I know this--turns weak, pliant, ridiculous as soon as he's in love.

You modern men, you children of reason, cannot begin to appreciate love as pure bliss and divine serenity.

I love her passionately with a morbid intensity; madly as one can only love a woman who never responds to our love with anything but an eternally uniform, eternally calm, stony smile.

Oh, you are the kind of man who will corrupt a woman to her very last fiber.

Now her eyes meet mine like green lightning-they are green, these eyes of hers, whose power is so indescribable-green, but as are precious stones, or deep unfathomable mountain lakes.

Above all else I am a dilettante in life.

You know how to paint pleasure, cruelty, arrogance in glowing colors.