For my part, I cannot think what the women mean.  It might be very well, if the Apollo Belvedere should suddenly glow all over life, and step forward from the pedestal with that godlike air of his.  But of the misbegotten changelings who call themselves men, and prate intolerably over dinner-tables, I never saw one who seemed worthy to inspire love–no, nor read of any, except Leonardo di Vinci, and perhaps Goethe in his youth.  About women I entertain a somewhat different opinion; but there, I have the misfortunate to be a man.

— from Robert Louis Stevenson, “On Falling in Love”

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