Let anyone ask a beautiful woman without wit whether she would be willing to exchange a small portion of her beauty for a sufficient dose of wit.  If she speaks the truth, she will say, “No, I am satisfied to be as I am.”  But why is she satisfied?  Because she is not aware of her own deficiency.  Let an ugly but witty woman be asked if she would change her wit against beauty, and she will not hesitate in saying no.  Why?  Because, knowing the value of her wit, she is well aware that it is sufficient by itself to make her a queen in any society.

But a learned woman, a blue-stocking, is not the creature to minister to a man’s happiness.  Positive knowledge is not a woman’s province.  It is antipathetic to the gentleness of her nature, to the amenity, to the sweet timidity which are the greatest charms of the fair sex, besides, women never carry their learning beyond certain limits, and the tittle-tattle of blue-stockings can dazzle no one but fools.  There has never been one great discovery due to a woman.  The fair sex is deficient in that vigorous power which the body lends to the mind, but women are evidently superior to men in simple reasoning, in delicacy of feelings, and in that species of merit which appertains to the heart rather than to the mind.

Hurl some idle sophism at a woman of intelligence.  She will not unravel it, but she will not be deceived by it, and, though she may not say so, she will let you guess that she does not accept it.  A man, on the contrary, if he cannot unravel the sophism, takes it in a literal sense, and in that respect the learned woman is exactly the same as man.  What a burden a Madame Dacier must be to a man!  May God save every honest man from such!

When the new dress was brought, Henriette told me that she did not want me to witness the process of her metamorphosis, and she desired me to go out for a walk until she had resumed her original form.  I obeyed cheerfully, for the slightest wish of the woman we love is a law, and our very obedience increases our happiness.

As I had nothing particular to do, I went to a French bookseller in whose shop I made the acquaintance of a witty hunchback, and I must say that a hunchback without wit is a raga avis; I have found it so in all countries.  Of course it is not wit which gives the hump, for, thank God, all witty men are not humpbacked, but we may well say that as a general rule the hump gives wit, for the very small number of hunchbacks who have little or no wit only confirms the rule:  The one I was alluding to just now was called Dubois-Chateleraux.  He was a skilful engraver, and director of the Mint of Parma for the Infante, although that prince could not boast of such an institution.