There are fewer ways of making love than they say, and more than one believes.

I am a mediocre being, a bit cunning.

I have no right to beauty. I had been condemned to masculine ugliness.

I detest heavy perfume and shrill voices.

What matters to us, the judgment of men? What have we to doubt, since we are pure before life?

There are fewer ways of making love than they say, and more than one believes.