Page "belles_lettres" Paragraph 544

But all this, I am well aware, is the bel canto of love, and although I have always liked to think that it was to the bel canto and to that alone that I listened, I know well enough that it was not.

If I am to speak the whole truth about my knowledge of love, I will have to stop trying to emulate the transcendant nightingale.

There is another side of love, more nearly symbolized by the croak of the mating capercailzie, or better still perhaps by the mute antics of the slug.