Perhaps it’s time to soften my heart and reconsider the Frenchman.
Indeed his amusement is fleeting, his thoughts are quite simple — but I see now that the Frenchman is different then the American. The Frenchman cooks, he cleans, he dresses well; he discusses his feelings and insights about life. Though he appears imperious and proud, his heart is, indeed, quite delicate and he does not want to be hurt. And he does not mean to distress, but he cannot help his respect for beauty and passing curiosity. There is a psychology here that I’m finally beginning to understand:
In France, there is more respect for grace and charm. Things are executed with subtly and tact.
Before, with my brazen outbursts and tempestuous cries, I could not hear the gentle melody Paris plays.
“The Frenchman, by nature, is sensuous and sensitive. He has intelligence, which makes him tired of life sooner than other kinds of men. He is not athletic: he sees the futility of the pursuit of fame; the climate at times depresses him.”
-Anais Nin
