You distrust me--I can neither be easy, nor loved, where I am distrusted.

Nor do I believe your passion for me is what you pretend it; at least I am sure was I in love I could not talk as you do.

Few women would have spoke so plainly as I have done; but to dissemble is among the things I never do.

I take more pains to approve my conduct to myself than to the world; and would not have to accuse myself of a minute's deceit.

I wish I loved you enough to devote myself to be for ever miserable, for the pleasure of a day or two's happiness.