I see myself so walking always.

It may be that I am a vain ass, but I cannot help it.
It may be that I am a little mad; but I would rather be mad with a Don Quixote than sane with an Andrew Carnegie and pile up platitudes and dollars.
"And all this foolishness of mine is somehow bound up with the thought that I have engaged to fight that evil fellow, and must do it; all the bright, sane madness in me cries out that he is to die by this hand of mine.
"I have opened my heart to you, as I have never done to anyone before.
And now I put myself into your hands.

But, oh, take care--for it is something in me better than myself that I give you to deal with! And you can cripple it forever, because I love you and I shall listen to you.

Shall I fight him ?" She had listened, mute and immobile, and as he spoke the red sun made a sudden glory of her hair.

She leaned towards him, and it was as if the spirit of all the man's lifelong, foolish, romantic musings were in her eyes and on her face.
"Fight him!" she said.