I leave to others the decision as to the good or evil tendencies of my character, but such as it is it shines upon my countenance, and there it can easily be detected by any physiognomist.  It is only on the fact that character can be read; there it lies exposed to the view.  It is worthy of remark that men who have no peculiar cast of countenance, and there are a great many such men, are likewise totally deficient in peculiar characteristics, and we may establish the rule that the varieties in physiognomy are equal to the differences in character.  I am aware that throughout my life my actions have received their impulse more from the force of feeling than from the wisdom of reason, and this has led me to acknowledge that my conduct has been dependent upon my nature more than upon my mind; both are generally at war, and in the midst of their continual collisions I have never found in me sufficient mind to balance my nature, or enough strength in my nature to counteract the power of my mind.  But enough of this, for there is truth in the old saying:  ’Si brevis esse volo, obscurus fio’, and I believe that, without offending against modesty, I can apply to myself the following words of my dear Virgil: 

  ’Nec sum adeo informis:  nuper me in littore vidi
   Cum placidum ventis staret mare.’

The chief business of my life has always been to indulge my senses; I never knew anything of greater importance.  I felt myself born for the fair sex, I have ever loved it dearly, and I have been loved by it as often and as much as I could.  I have likewise always had a great weakness for good living, and I ever felt passionately fond of every object which excited my curiosity.

I have had friends who have acted kindly towards me, and it has been my good fortune to have it in my power to give them substantial proofs of my gratitude.  I have had also bitter enemies who have persecuted me, and whom I have not crushed simply because I could not do it.  I never would have forgiven them, had I not lost the memory of all the injuries they had heaped upon me.  The man who forgets does not forgive, he only loses the remembrance of the harm inflicted on him; forgiveness is the offspring of a feeling of heroism, of a noble heart, of a generous mind, whilst forgetfulness is only the result of a weak memory, or of an easy carelessness, and still oftener of a natural desire for calm and quietness.  Hatred, in the course of time, kills the unhappy wretch who delights in nursing it in his bosom.

Should anyone bring against me an accusation of sensuality he would be wrong, for all the fierceness of my senses never caused me to neglect any of my duties.  For the same excellent reason, the accusation of drunkenness ought not to have been brought against Homer: 

   ‘Laudibus arguitur vini vinosus Homerus.’

I have always been fond of highly-seasoned, rich dishes, such as macaroni prepared by a skilful Neapolitan cook, the olla-podrida of the Spaniards, the glutinous codfish from Newfoundland, game with a strong flavour, and cheese the perfect state of which is attained when the tiny animaculae formed from its very essence begin to shew signs of life.  As for women, I have always found the odour of my beloved ones exceeding pleasant.