“Once you suffered passions and called them evil. But now you have only your virtues left: they grew out of your passions…And whether you came from the race of the choleric or the voluptuous or the fanatic or the vindictive:
All your passions in the end became virtues, and all your devils angels.
Once you had wild dogs in your cellar: but they changed at last into birds and charming singers.
Out of your poisons you brewed your balsam; you milked your cow, misery—now you drink the sweet milk of her udder.”