(...) The Tree Forsakes Not The Flower:

Within Six Months, If I Am Not Dead, I Shall Have Seen You Again, Madam--even If I Have To Overturn The World.

I Am A Count, Not A Saint.

...for, However All Other Feelings May Be Withered In A Woman's Nature, There Is Always One Bright Smiling Spot In The Maternal Breast, And That Is Where A Dearly-beloved Child Is Concerned.

True, I Have Raped History, But It Has Produced Some Beautiful Offspring.

On What Slender Threads Do Life And Fortune Hang.