Disgusting foods, as Madame de Pompadour discovered, do not arouse the senses. They only dull them. Seduction, as you know by now, for women starts with the ears and for men starts with the eyes and for both, travels directly to the stomach. Some say you need sweet murmurings in the ears, but I say laughter, intrigue and delicacies are more powerful.

Passing through the early fog, the fruitseller’s boat nudged the edge of the canal beside the Palazzo Malipiero. All around was stillness. Casanova whispered to me, “This is the type of pause that occurs just in the instant before la petite mort. The breath held before the gasp followed by the exquisite release.

I admire the Queen greatly,” Casanova confided in me. “She can tie a man up by his thumbs, discuss philosophy with Diderot and Voltaire, and plot and scheme like a Dutch diplomat. She has voracious appetites, uses exquisite French scents, is kind to animals, fences like a Hungarian hussar, recreates herself on a white silk swing in a room full of mirrors, and gives afternoon tea parties for society ladies. Useful horsewoman, too.

Man, that boy was so evil, the devil threw him out of hell.

The only thing the Marquis does in moderation is moderation

Never wait for a woman to show interest. It is not her interest we seek, but her desire,” whispered Casanova. “Intrigue her, tantalize her, flatter her and let her know that she is the only one in the room that you truly want. Women want to be admired and desired above all others. Even if they refuse you, they will never forget you.

I have decided, before the embers of my life dwindle anymore, to embark on a grand tour. With rumblings of revolution and troubled times to come, the old ways are passing on. I have had enough of sitting here twiddling with a quill writing my wretched memoirs. Twelve volumes. Mostly lies but amusing, nevertheless. It is time to return to life.