“The girl was grateful to the young man for every bit of flattery; she wanted to linger for a moment in its warmth and so she said, 'You're very good at lying.''Do I look like a liar?''You look like you enjoy lying to women,' said the girl, and into her words there crept unawares a touch of the old anxiety, because she really did believe that her young man enjoyed lying to women.”

“I pictured a girl who made every moment, everything she touched, and everyone around her feel lighter and sweeter.“I pictured you,” he said. “I just didn’t know what you looked like.“And then, when I did know what you looked like, you looked like the girl who was all those things. You looked like the girl I loved.”

“Whew,” he said. “You clean up good. You don’t look like the same girl.”She frowned right before she laughed. “Do women usually thank you for saying things like that?”

“You are a good young man," she said. "But I do not like husbands. I will never have another.”

“The majority enjoy a young girl as they enjoy a glass of champagne, at one effervescent moment-oh, yes, that is really beautiful, and with many a young girl that is undoubtedly the most one can attain, but here there is more. If an individual is too fragile to stand clarity and transparency, well, then one enjoys what is unclear, but apparently she can stand it. The more devotedness one can bring to erotic love, the more interesting. This momentary enjoyment is a rape, even if not outwardly but nevertheless mentally, and in a rape there is only imagined enjoyment; it is like a stolen kiss, something nondescript. No, if one can bring it to a point where a girl has but one task for her freedom, to give herself, so that she feels her whole happiness in this, so that she practically begs for this devotedness and yet is free-only then is there enjoyment, but this always takes a discerning touch”

“It is a great honor to meet you, young man. Now, here is someone very special that I want you to meet.” And she pulled one of the little girls into her lap, and said, as if she was presenting a wonder of the world, “This is Giulietta.” Romeo stuck the biscotto in his pocket. “I don’t think so,” he said. “She’s wearing a diaper.”