The first kiss, I gave you as coldly as I would have put my name
to a contract; the second, I gave with enormous curiosity to analyze you
and myself, but in fact, I didn't analyze anything and
understood nothing, as I was still feeling a kind of timidity that froze
me; at the third kiss, and those which came after it, I could feel in
my arms the sweet girl I had been searching for, and all that was left
of my youth. Now, I understand the whole business less and less; what's
certain is that my powers as analyst are not what I thought they were.
I don't know the color of your eyes, your hair often surprises me, and I
still don't really know your kisses. Mine too have a strange quality;
not passionate warmth, to be sure, because I'm careful, very careful,
that they shall not be more than you allow them to be. I don't want to
be violent, I want to be gentle and kind. My greatest pleasure lies in
feeling that I've changed — I don't dare to say grown young again.
— letter from Italo Svevo to Livia Veneziani (from "Memoir of Italo Svevo" Marlboro Press, 1991).
— sdh