It is for you, my love, not for the black tulip.

Destroy the bulb, destroy the germ of that flower, extinguish the gentle light of that innocent and delightful dream, to which I have accustomed myself; but love me, Rosa, love me; for I feel deeply that I love but you." "Yes, after the black tulip," sighed Rosa, who at last no longer coyly withdrew her warm hands from the grating, as Cornelius most affectionately kissed them.
"Above and before everything in this world, Rosa." "May I believe you ?" "As you believe in your own existence." "Well, then, be it so; but loving me does not bind you too much." "Unfortunately, it does not bind me more than I am bound; but it binds you, Rosa, you." "To what ?" "First of all, not to marry." She smiled.
"That's your way," she said; "you are tyrants all of you.

You worship a certain beauty, you think of nothing but her.

Then you are condemned to death, and whilst walking to the scaffold, you devote to her your last sigh; and now you expect poor me to sacrifice to you all my dreams and my happiness." "But who is the beauty you are talking of, Rosa ?" said Cornelius, trying in vain to remember a woman to whom Rosa might possibly be alluding.
"The dark beauty with a slender waist, small feet, and a noble head; in short, I am speaking of your flower." Cornelius smiled.
"That is an imaginary lady love, at all events; whereas, without counting that amorous Jacob, you by your own account are surrounded with all sorts of swains eager to make love to you.

Do you remember Rosa, what you told me of the students, officers, and clerks of the Hague?
Are there no clerks, officers, or students at Loewestein ?" "Indeed there are, and lots of them." "Who write letters ?" "They do write." "And now, as you know how to read----" Here Cornelius heaved a sigh at the thought, that, poor captive as he was, to him alone Rosa owed the faculty of reading the love-letters which she received.
"As to that," said Rosa, "I think that in reading the notes addressed to me, and passing the different swains in review who send them to me, I am only following your instructions." "How so?
My instructions ?" "Indeed, your instructions, sir," said Rosa, sighing in her turn; "have you forgotten the will written by your hand on the Bible of Cornelius de Witt?
I have not forgotten it; for now, as I know how to read, I read it every day over and over again.