"I have not written for their pleasure... I have never flattered their opinions, nor their pride; nor will I. Neither will I make "Ladies' books" al … - Lord Byron

I have fallen in love within the last month with a Romagnuola Countess from Ravenna — the Spouse of a year of Count Guiccioli — who is sixty — the Girl twenty — he has eighty thousand ducats of rent — and has had two wives before — but he is Sixty — he is the first of Ravenna Nobles — but he is sixty — She is fair as Sunrise — and warm as Noon — we had but ten days — to manage all our little matters in beginning middle and end. & we managed them; — and I have done my duty — with the proper consummation. — But She is young — and was not content with what she had done — unless it was to be turned to the advantage of the public — and so She made an eclat which rather astonished even the Venetians — and electrified the Conversazioni of the Benzone — the Albrizzi — & the Michelli — and made her husband look embarrassed. — They have been gone back to Ravenna — some time — but they return in the Winter. — She is the queerest woman I ever met with — for in general they cost one something in one way or other — whereas by an odd combination of circumstances — I have proved an experience to HER — which is not my custom, — but an accident — however it don't mater. — She is a sort of an Italian Caroline Lamb, except that She is much prettier, and not so savage. — But She has the same red-hot head — the same noble disdain of public opinion — with the superstructure of all that Italy can add to such natural dispositions. — To by sure they may go much further here with impunity — as her husband's rank ensured their reception at all societies including the Court — and as it was her first outbreak since Marriage — the Sympathizing world was liberal. — She is also of the Ravenna noblesse — educated in a convent — sacrifice to Wealth — filial duty and all that. — I am damnably in love — but they are gone — gone — for many months — and nothing but Hope — keeps me alive seriously.

And if we do but watch the hour, There never yet was human power
Which could evade, if unforgiven, The patient search and vigil long
Of him who treasures up a wrong.

Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye.