“Lastly, say to me, if you can, with feelings as tender as mine for you: my dear Beelzebub, I adore you...”

“Man was made of a little mud and water. Could not a woman be made of dew, earthen mists and beams of light, condensed remnants of a rainbow?”

“The truth is that the devil is very cunning. The truth is that he is not always as ugly as they say.”

“I fell, you see. Trod on my abbot, Father Habit. Oh, dear! I mean...”

“How can another see into me, into my most secret self, without my being able to see in there myself? And without my being able to see him in me. And if my secret self, that which can be revealed only to the other, to the wholly other, to God if you wish, is a secret that I will never reflect on, that I will never know or experience or possess as my own, then what sense is there in saying that it is my secret, or in saying more generally that a secret belongs, that it is proper to or belongs to some one, or to some other who remains someone. It's perhaps there that we find the secret of secrecy. Namely, that it is not a matter of knowing and that it is there for no one. A secret doesn't belong, it can never be said to be at home or in its place. The question of the self: who am I not in the sense of who am I but rather who is this I that can say who? What is the- I and what becomes of responsibility once the identity of the I trembles in secret?”

“Tis a far cry from home for a poor lonely thing,O'er the deeps and wild waters of seas,Where you can't hear your dear mother's voice softly singLike a breeze gently stirring the trees.Come home, little one, wander back here someday,I'll watch for you, each evening and morn,Through all the long season 'til I'm old and greyAs the frost on the hedges at dawn.There's a lantern that shines in my window at night,I have long kept it burning for you,It glows through the dark, like a clear guiding light,And I know someday you'll see it, too.So hasten back, little one, or I will soon be gone,No more to see your dear face,But I know that I'll feel your tears fall one by one,On the flowers o'er my resting place.”

“Shake paws, count your claws,You steal mine, I'll borrow yours.Watch my whiskers, check both ears.Robber foxes have no fears.”