"You used to talk as if you regarded us women as incapable of friendship. Is that really your opinion?"
"Yes, but the incapability, I think, lies more in the friendship than in you. Whatever you love at all, you love indivisibly; for instance, a sweetheart or a baby. With you even a sisterly relation would assume this character."
"You are right there."
"For you friendship is too many-sided and one-sided. It has to be absolutely spiritual and have definite, fixed bounds. This boundedness would, only in a more refined way, be just as fatal to your character as would sheer sensuality without love. For society, on the other hand, it is too serious, too profound, too holy."
"Cannot people, then, talk with each other regardless of whether they are men or women?"
"That might make society rather serious. At best, it might form an interesting club. You understand what I mean: it would be a great gain, if people could talk freely, and were neither too wild nor yet too stiff. The finest and best part would always be lacking—that which is everywhere the spirit and soul of good society—namely, that playing with love and that love of play which, without the finer sense, easily degenerates into jocosity. And for that reason I defend the ambiguities too."
"Do you do that in play or by way of joke?"
"No! No! I do it in all seriousness."
"But surely not as seriously and solemnly as Pauline and her lover?"
"Heaven forbid! I really believe they would ring the church-bell when they embrace each other, if it were only proper. Oh, it is true, my friend, man is naturally a serious animal. We must work against this shameful and abominable propensity with all our strength, and attack it from all sides. To that end ambiguities are also good, except that they are so seldom ambiguous. When they are not and allow only one interpretation, that is not immoral, it is only obtrusive and vulgar. Frivolous talk must be spiritual and dainty and modest, so far as possible; for the rest as wicked as you choose."