That is true

Cyrano de Bergerac:

Whom I love? Think a moment. Think of me. Me, whom the plainest woman would despise. Me, with this nose of mine, that marches on before me by a quarter of an hour. Whom shall I love? Why, of course, it must be the woman in the world most beautiful. Le Bret:
Most beautiful? Cyrano de Bergerac:
In these eyes of mine, beyond compare. Le Bret:
Wait, your cousin, Roxane. Cyrano de Bergerac:
Yes, Roxane. Le Bret:
Well, why not? If you love her, tell her so. Cyrano de Bergerac:
My old friend, look at me and tell me how much hope remains for me with this protuberance? Well, I have no more illusions. Now and then, I may grow tender, walking alone in the blue cool of evening through some garden fresh with flowers after the benediction of the rain. My poor, big devil of a nose inhales April, and I follow with my eyes where some boy with a girl upon his arm, passes a patch of silver. And I feel somehow, I wish I had a woman too, walking with me under the moon and holding my arm and smiling. And then I dream and I forget. And then I see the shadow of my profile on the wall. Le Bret:
My friend. Cyrano de Bergerac:
My friend, I have my bitter days knowing myself so ugly, so alone. Le Bret:
Ah, but your wit, your courage - why that poor child who just now offered you your dinner. You saw it. Her eyes did not avoid you. Cyrano de Bergerac:
[In a state of awe and shock]
That is true