ZEBILINE BY PHILLIPE DE MASA, V1[IM#18][im18b10.txt]3931
Life goes on, and that is less gay than the storiesMen admired her; the women sought some point to criticise
ZEBILINE BY PHILLIPE DE MASA, V2[IM#19][im19b10.txt]3932
Ambiguity has no place, nor has compromiseBut if this is our supreme farewell, do not tell me so!Chain so light yesterday, so heavy to-dayEvery man is his own master in his choice of liaisonsIf I do not give all I give nothingIndulgence of which they stand in need themselvesOstensibly you sit at the feast without paying the costParis has become like a little country town in its gossipThe night brings counselYou are in a conquered country, which is still more dangerous
ZEBILINE BY PHILLIPE DE MASA, V3[IM#20][im20b10.txt]3933
All that was illogical in our social codeOnly a man, wavering and changeableTheir Christian charity did not extend so far as thatThere are mountains that we never climb but once
THE ENTIRE ZEBILINE BY PHILLIPE DE MASA[IM#21][im21b10.txt]3934
All that was illogical in our social codeAmbiguity has no place, nor has compromiseBut if this is our supreme farewell, do not tell me so!Chain so light yesterday, so heavy to-dayEvery man is his own master in his choice of liaisonsIf I do not give all I give nothingIndulgence of which they stand in need themselvesLife goes on, and that is less gay than the storiesMen admired her; the women sought some point to criticiseOnly a man, wavering and changeableOstensibly you sit at the feast without paying the costParis has become like a little country town in its gossipThe night brings counselTheir Christian charity did not extend so far as thatThere are mountains that we never climb but onceYou are in a conquered country, which is still more dangerous
A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET, V1[IM#22][im22b10.txt]3935
Amusements they offered were either wearisome or repugnantDreaded the monotonous regularity of conjugal lifeFawning duplicityHad not been spoiled by Fortune's giftsHypocritical grievancesI am not in the habit of consulting the lawIt does not mend matters to give way like thatOpposing his orders with steady, irritating inertiaThere are some men who never have had any childhoodTo make a will is to put one foot into the graveToast and white wine (for breakfast)Vague hope came over him that all would come right
A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET, V2[IM#23][im23b10.txt]3936
I measure others by myselfLike all timid persons, he took refuge in a moody silenceOthers found delight in the most ordinary amusementsSensitiveness and disposition to self-blameWomen: they are more bitter than deathYield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh their amusementsYou must be pleased with yourself—that is more essential
A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET, V3[IM#24][im24b10.txt]3937
Accustomed to hide what I thinkConsoled himself with one of the pious commonplacesHow small a space man occupies on the earthMore disposed to discover evil than goodNature's cold indifference to our sufferingsNever is perfect happiness our lotPlead the lie to get at the truthThe ease with which he is forgottenThose who have outlived their illusionsTimidity of a night-bird that is made to fly in the dayVexed, act in direct contradiction to their own wishesYou have considerable patience for a lover
ENTIRE A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET[IM#25][im25b10.txt]3938
Accustomed to hide what I thinkAmusements they offered were either wearisome or repugnantConsoled himself with one of the pious commonplacesDreaded the monotonous regularity of conjugal lifeFawning duplicityHad not been spoiled by Fortune's giftsHow small a space man occupies on the earthHypocritical grievancesI am not in the habit of consulting the lawI measure others by myselfIt does not mend matters to give way like thatLike all timid persons, he took refuge in a moody silenceMore disposed to discover evil than goodNature's cold indifference to our sufferingsNever is perfect happiness our lotOpposing his orders with steady, irritating inertiaOthers found delight in the most ordinary amusementsPlead the lie to get at the truthSensitiveness and disposition to self-blameThe ease with which he is forgottenThere are some men who never have had any childhoodThose who have outlived their illusionsTimidity of a night-bird that is made to fly in the dayTo make a will is to put one foot into the graveToast and white wine (for breakfast)Vague hope came over him that all would come rightVexed, act in direct contradiction to their own wishesWomen: they are more bitter than deathYield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh their amusementsYou have considerable patience for a loverYou must be pleased with yourself—that is more essential
CHILD OF A CENTURY, ALFRED DE MUSSET, V1[IM#26][im26b10.txt]3939
A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what is possibleAccustomed to call its disguise virtueAll that is not life, it is the noise of lifeBecome corrupt, and you will cease to sufferBegan to forget my own sorrow in my sympathy for herBeware of disgust, it is an incurable evilDeath is more to be desired than a living distaste for lifeDespair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled childDo they think they have invented what they seeForce itself, that mistress of the worldGalileo struck the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!"Grief itself was for her but a means of seducingHe lives only in the bodyHuman weakness seeks associationI boasted of being worse than I really wasI can not love her, I can not love anotherI do not intend either to boast or abase myselfIgnorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laityIn what do you believe?Indignation can solace grief and restore happinessIs he a dwarf or a giantMen doubted everything: the young men denied everythingOf all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pityPerfection does not existResorted to exaggeration in order to appear originalSceptic regrets the faith he has lost the power to regainSeven who are always the same: the first is called hopeSt. AugustineTicking of which (our arteries) can be heard only at nightWhen passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warningWine suffuses the face as if to prevent shame appearing thereYou believe in what is said here below and not in what is doneYou turn the leaves of dead booksYouth is to judge of the world from first impressions
CHILD OF A CENTURY, ALFRED DE MUSSET, V2[IM#27][im27b10.txt]3940
Adieu, my son, I love you and I dieAll philosophy is akin to atheismAnd when love is sure of itself and knows responseCan any one prevent a gossipEach one knows what the other is about to sayGood and bad days succeeded each other almost regularlyGreat sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme—they listenHappiness of being pursuedHe who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blowI neither love nor esteem sadnessIt is a pity that you must seek pastimesMan who suffers wishes to make her whom he loves sufferNo longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of herPure caprice that I myself mistook for a flash of reasonQuarrel had been, so to speak, less sad than our reconciliationShe pretended to hope for the bestTerrible words; I deserve them, but they will kill meThere are two different men in youWe have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a large sumWhat human word will ever express thy slightest caressWhat you take for love is nothing more than desire
CHILD OF A CENTURY, ALFRED DE MUSSET, V3[IM#28][im28b10.txt]3941
Because you weep, you fondly imagine yourself innocentCold silence, that negative forceContrive to use proud disdain as a shieldFool who destroys his own happinessFuneral processions are no longer permittedHow much they desire to be loved who say they love no moreI can not be near you and separated from you at the same momentIs it not enough to have lived?Make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimesReading the Memoirs of ConstantSometimes we seem to enjoy unhappinessSpeak to me of your love, she said, "not of your griefSuffered, and yet took pleasure in itSuspicions that are ever born anew"Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to loveWho has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guiltYou play with happiness as a child plays with a rattleYour great weapon is silence
ENTIRE CHILD OF A CENTURY, ALFRED DE MUSSET[IM#29][im29b10.txt]3942
A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what is possibleAccustomed to call its disguise virtueAdieu, my son, I love you and I dieAll philosophy is akin to atheismAll that is not life, it is the noise of lifeAnd when love is sure of itself and knows responseBecause you weep, you fondly imagine yourself innocentBecome corrupt, and you will cease to sufferBegan to forget my own sorrow in my sympathy for herBeware of disgust, it is an incurable evilCan any one prevent a gossipCold silence, that negative forceContrive to use proud disdain as a shieldDeath is more to be desired than a living distaste for lifeDespair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled childDo they think they have invented what they seeEach one knows what the other is about to sayFool who destroys his own happinessForce itself, that mistress of the worldFuneral processions are no longer permittedGalileo struck the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!"Good and bad days succeeded each other almost regularlyGreat sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme—they listenGrief itself was for her but a means of seducingHappiness of being pursuedHe who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blowHe lives only in the bodyHow much they desire to be loved who say they love no moreHuman weakness seeks associationI can not be near you and separated from you at the same momentI can not love her, I can not love anotherI boasted of being worse than I really wasI neither love nor esteem sadnessI do not intend either to boast or abase myselfIgnorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laityIn what do you believe?Indignation can solace grief and restore happinessIs he a dwarf or a giantIs it not enough to have lived?It is a pity that you must seek pastimesMake a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimesMan who suffers wishes to make her whom he loves sufferMen doubted everything: the young men denied everythingNo longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of herOf all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pityPerfection does not existPure caprice that I myself mistook for a flash of reasonQuarrel had been, so to speak, less sad than our reconciliationReading the Memoirs of ConstantResorted to exaggeration in order to appear originalSceptic regrets the faith he has lost the power to regainSeven who are always the same: the first is called hopeShe pretended to hope for the bestSometimes we seem to enjoy unhappinessSpeak to me of your love, she said, "not of your griefSt. AugustineSuffered, and yet took pleasure in itSuspicions that are ever born anewTerrible words; I deserve them, but they will kill meThere are two different men in youTicking of which (our arteries) can be heard only at night"Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love"We have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a large sumWhat you take for love is nothing more than desireWhat human word will ever express thy slightest caressWhen passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warningWho has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guiltWine suffuses the face as if to prevent shame appearing thereYou believe in what is said here below and not in what is doneYou play with happiness as a child plays with a rattleYou turn the leaves of dead booksYour great weapon is silenceYouth is to judge of the world from first impressions
MONSIEUR DE CAMORS BY OCTAVE FEUILLET, V1[IM#30][im30b10.txt]3943
Bad to fear the opinion of people one despisesCamors refused, hesitated, made objections, and consentedConfounding progress with discord, liberty with licenseContempt for men is the beginning of wisdomCried out, with the blunt candor of his ageDangers of liberty outweighed its benefitsDemanded of him imperatively—the time of dayDo not get angry. Rarely laugh, and never weepEvery cause that is in antagonism with its age commits suicideEvery one is the best judge of his own affairsEvery road leads to Rome—and one as surely as anotherGod—or no principles!He is charming, for one always feels in danger near himIntemperance of her zeal and the acrimony of her bigotryMan, if he will it, need not grow old: the lion mustNever can make revolutions with gloves onOnce an excellent remedy, is a detestable regimenPleasures of an independent code of moralsPolice regulations known as religionPrinciples alone, without faith in some higher sanctionProperty of all who are strong enough to stand it'Semel insanivimus omnes.' (every one has his madness)Slip forth from the common herd, my son, think for yourselfSuspicion that he is a feeble human creature after all!There will be no more belief in Christ than in JupiterTies that become duties where we only sought pleasuresTruth is easily found. I shall read all the newspapersWhether in this world one must be a fanatic or nothingWhole world of politics and religion rushed to extremesWith the habit of thinking, had not lost the habit of laughingYou can not make an omelette without first breaking the eggs
MONSIEUR DE CAMORS BY OCTAVE FEUILLET, V2[IM#31][im31b10.txt]3944
A defensive attitude is never agreeable to a manBelieving that it is for virtue's sake alone such men love themDetermined to cultivate ability rather than scrupulousnessDisenchantment which follows possessionHave not that pleasure, it is useless to incur the penaltiesInconstancy of heart is the special attribute of manKnew her danger, and, unlike most of them, she did not love itPut herself on good terms with God, in case He should existTwo persons who desired neither to remember nor to forget
MONSIEUR DE CAMORS BY OCTAVE FEUILLET, V3[IM#32][im32b10.txt]3945
A man never should kneel unless sure of rising a conquerorOne of those pious persons who always think evil
ENTIRE MONSIEUR DE CAMORS BY OCT. Feuillet[IM#33][im33b10.txt]3946
A man never should kneel unless sure of rising a conquerorA defensive attitude is never agreeable to a manBad to fear the opinion of people one despisesBelieving that it is for virtue's sake alone such men love themCamors refused, hesitated, made objections, and consentedConfounding progress with discord, liberty with licenseContempt for men is the beginning of wisdomCried out, with the blunt candor of his ageDangers of liberty outweighed its benefitsDemanded of him imperatively—the time of dayDetermined to cultivate ability rather than scrupulousnessDisenchantment which follows possessionDo not get angry. Rarely laugh, and never weepEvery one is the best judge of his own affairsEvery road leads to Rome—and one as surely as anotherEvery cause that is in antagonism with its age commits suicideGod—or no principles!Have not that pleasure, it is useless to incur the penaltiesHe is charming, for one always feels in danger near himInconstancy of heart is the special attribute of manIntemperance of her zeal and the acrimony of her bigotryKnew her danger, and, unlike most of them, she did not love itMan, if he will it, need not grow old: the lion mustNever can make revolutions with gloves onOnce an excellent remedy, is a detestable regimenOne of those pious persons who always think evilPleasures of an independent code of moralsPolice regulations known as religionPrinciples alone, without faith in some higher sanctionProperty of all who are strong enough to stand itPut herself on good terms with God, in case He should existSemel insanivimus omnes.' (every one has his madness)Slip forth from the common herd, my son, think for yourselfSuspicion that he is a feeble human creature after all!There will be no more belief in Christ than in JupiterTies that become duties where we only sought pleasuresTruth is easily found. I shall read all the newspapersTwo persons who desired neither to remember nor to forgetWhether in this world one must be a fanatic or nothingWhole world of politics and religion rushed to extremesWith the habit of thinking, had not lost the habit of laughingYou can not make an omelette without first breaking the eggs
CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY, V1[IM#34][im34b10.txt]3947
Adopted fact is always better composed than the real oneAdvantage that a calm temper gives one over menArt is the chosen truthArtificialities of style of that periodArtistic Truth, more lofty than the TrueAs Homer says, "smiling under tears"Difference which I find between Truth in art and the True in facHappy is he who does not outlive his youthHe did not blush to be a man, and he spoke to men with forceHistory too was a work of artIn every age we laugh at the costume of our fathersIt is not now what it used to beIt is too true that virtue also has its blushLofty ideal of woman and of loveMoney is not a common thing between gentlemen like you and meMonsieur, I know that I have lived too longNeither idealist nor realistNo writer had more dislike of mere pedantryOffices will end by rendering great names vilePrincesses ceded like a town, and must not even weepPrinciple that art implied selectionRecommended a scrupulous observance of natureRemedy infallible against the plague and against reserveTrue talent paints life rather than the livingTruth, I here venture to distinguish from that of the TrueUrbain GrandierWhat use is the memory of facts, if not to serve as an exampleWoman is more bitter than death, and her arms are like chainsYes, we are in the way here
CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY, V2[IM#35][im35b10.txt]3948
Doubt, the greatest misery of loveNever interfered in what did not concern himSo strongly does force impose upon menThe usual remarks prompted by imbecility on such occasions
CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY, V3[IM#36][im36b10.txt]3949
Ambition is the saddest of all hopesAssume with others the mien they wore toward himMen are weak, and there are things which women must accomplish
CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY, V4[IM#37][im37b10.txt]3950
A queen's country is where her throne isAll that he said, I had already thoughtAlways the first word which is the most difficult to sayDare now to be silent when I have told you these thingsDaylight is detrimental to themFriendship exists only in independence and a kind of equalityI have burned all the bridges behind meIn pitying me he forgot himselfIn times like these we must see all and say allReproaches are useless and cruel if the evil is doneShould be punished for not having known how to punishTears for the futureThe great leveller has swung a long scythe over FranceThe most in favor will be the soonest abandoned by himThis popular favor is a cup one must drinkThis was the Dauphin, afterward Louis XIV
CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY, V5[IM#38][im38b10.txt]3951
They have believed me incapable because I was kindThey tremble while they threaten
CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY, V6[IM#39][im39b10.txt]3952
A cat is a very fine animal. It is a drawing-room tigerBut how avenge one's self on silence?Deny the spirit of self-sacrificeHatred of everything which is superior to myselfHermits can not refrain from inquiring what men say of themPrinces ought never to be struck, except on the headThese ideas may serve as opium to produce a calmThey loved not as you love, eh?
THE ENTIRE CINQ MARS, BY ALFRED DE VIGNY[IM#40][im40b10.txt]3953
A cat is a very fine animal. It is a drawing-room tigerA queen's country is where her throne isAdopted fact is always better composed than the real oneAdvantage that a calm temper gives one over menAll that he said, I had already thoughtAlways the first word which is the most difficult to sayAmbition is the saddest of all hopesArt is the chosen truthArtificialities of style of that periodArtistic Truth, more lofty than the TrueAs Homer says, "smiling under tears"Assume with others the mien they wore toward himBut how avenge one's self on silence?Dare now to be silent when I have told you these thingsDaylight is detrimental to themDeny the spirit of self-sacrificeDifference which I find between Truth in art and the True in facDoubt, the greatest misery of loveFriendship exists only in independence and a kind of equalityHappy is he who does not outlive his youthHatred of everything which is superior to myselfHe did not blush to be a man, and he spoke to men with forceHermits can not refrain from inquiring what men say of themHistory too was a work of artI have burned all the bridges behind meIn pitying me he forgot himselfIn every age we laugh at the costume of our fathersIn times like these we must see all and say allIt is not now what it used to beIt is too true that virtue also has its blushLofty ideal of woman and of loveMen are weak, and there are things which women must accomplishMoney is not a common thing between gentlemen like you and meMonsieur, I know that I have lived too longNeither idealist nor realistNever interfered in what did not concern himNo writer had more dislike of mere pedantryOffices will end by rendering great names vilePrinces ought never to be struck, except on the headPrincesses ceded like a town, and must not even weepPrinciple that art implied selectionRecommended a scrupulous observance of natureRemedy infallible against the plague and against reserveReproaches are useless and cruel if the evil is doneShould be punished for not having known how to punishSo strongly does force impose upon menTears for the futureThe great leveller has swung a long scythe over FranceThe most in favor will be the soonest abandoned by himThe usual remarks prompted by imbecility on such occasionsThese ideas may serve as opium to produce a calmThey tremble while they threatenThey have believed me incapable because I was kindThey loved not as you love, eh?This popular favor is a cup one must drinkThis was the Dauphin, afterward Louis XIVTrue talent paints life rather than the livingTruth, I here venture to distinguish from that of the TrueUrbain GrandierWhat use is the memory of facts, if not to serve as an exampleWoman is more bitter than death, and her arms are like chainsYes, we are in the way here
L'ABBE CONSTANTIN BY LUDOVIC HALEVY, V1[IM#41][im41b10.txt]3954
Ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and gnawed by timeAnd they are shoulders which ought to be seenBut she will give me nothing but moneyDuty, simply accepted and simply dischargedGod may have sent him to purgatory just for form's sakeHe led the brilliant and miserable existence of the unoccupiedIf there is one! (a paradise)Never foolish to spend money. The folly lies in keeping itOften been compared to Eugene Sue, but his touch is lighterOne half of his life belonged to the poorSucceeded in wearying him by her importunities and tendernessThe history of good people is often monotonous or painfulThe women have enough religion for the men
L'ABBE CONSTANTIN BY LUDOVIC HALEVY, V2[IM#42][im42b10.txt]3955
Believing themselves irresistibleFrenchman has only one real luxury—his revolutionsGreat difference between dearly and very muchHad not told all—one never does tell allIn order to make money, the first thing is to have no need of itTo learn to obey is the only way of learning to command
L'ABBE CONSTANTIN BY LUDOVIC HALEVY, V3[IM#43][im43b10.txt]3956
Love and tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same heartOne may think of marrying, but one ought not to try to marry
APR 2003 ENTIRE L'ABBE CONSTANTIN BY LUDOVIC HALEVY[IM#44][im44b10.txt]3957
Ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and gnawed by timeAnd they are shoulders which ought to be seenBelieving themselves irresistibleBut she will give me nothing but moneyDuty, simply accepted and simply dischargedFrenchman has only one real luxury—his revolutionsGod may have sent him to purgatory just for form's sakeGreat difference between dearly and very muchHad not told all—one never does tell allHe led the brilliant and miserable existence of the unoccupiedIf there is one! (a paradise)In order to make money, the first thing is to have no need of itLove and tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same heartNever foolish to spend money. The folly lies in keeping itOften been compared to Eugene Sue, but his touch is lighterOne half of his life belonged to the poorOne may think of marrying, but one ought not to try to marrySucceeded in wearying him by her importunities and tendernessThe women have enough religion for the menThe history of good people is often monotonous or painfulTo learn to obey is the only way of learning to command
A ROMANCE OF YOUTH BY FRANCOIS COPPEE, V1[IM#45][im45b10.txt]3958
Break in his memory, like a book with several leaves torn outInoffensive tree which never had harmed anybodyIt was all delightfully terrible!Mild, unpretentious men who let everybody run over themNow his grief was his wife, and lived with himTediousness seems to ooze out through their bindingsTired smile of those who have not long to liveTrees are like men; there are some that have no luckVoice of the heart which alone has power to reach the heartWhen he sings, it is because he has something to sing about
A ROMANCE OF YOUTH BY FRANCOIS COPPEE, V2[IM#46][im46b10.txt]3959
Dreams, instead of livingFortunate enough to keep those one lovesLearned that one leaves college almost ignorantPaint from natureThe sincere age when one thinks aloudUpon my word, there are no ugly ones (women)Very young, and was in love with love
A ROMANCE OF YOUTH BY FRANCOIS COPPEE, V3[IM#47][im47b10.txt]3960
Good form consists, above all things, in keeping silentIntimate friend, whom he has known for about five minutesMy good fellow, you are quite worthless as a man of pleasureSociety people condemned to hypocrisy and falsehood
A ROMANCE OF YOUTH BY FRANCOIS COPPEE, V4[IM#48][im48b10.txt]3961
Egotists and cowards always have a reason for everythingEternally condemned to kill each other in order to liveGod forgive the timid and the prattler!Happiness exists only by snatches and lasts only a momentHe almost regretted herHe does not know the miseries of ambition and vanityHow sad these old memorics are in the autumnNever travel when the heart is troubled!Not more honest than necessaryPoor France of Jeanne d'Arc and of NapoleonRedouble their boasting after each defeatTake their levity for heroismThe leaves fall! the leaves fall!Universal suffrage, with its accustomed intelligenceWere certain against all reason
ENTIRE ROMANCE OF YOUTH BY FRANCOIS COPPEE[IM#49][im49b10.txt]3962
Break in his memory, like a book with several leaves torn outDreams, instead of livingEgotists and cowards always have a reason for everythingEternally condemned to kill each other in order to liveFortunate enough to keep those one lovesGod forgive the timid and the prattler!Good form consists, above all things, in keeping silentHappiness exists only by snatches and lasts only a momentHe does not know the miseries of ambition and vanityHe almost regretted herHow sad these old memorics are in the autumnInoffensive tree which never had harmed anybodyIntimate friend, whom he has known for about five minutesIt was all delightfully terrible!Learned that one leaves college almost ignorantMild, unpretentious men who let everybody run over themMy good fellow, you are quite worthless as a man of pleasureNever travel when the heart is troubled!Not more honest than necessaryNow his grief was his wife, and lived with himPaint from naturePoor France of Jeanne d'Arc and of NapoleonRedouble their boasting after each defeatSociety people condemned to hypocrisy and falsehoodTake their levity for heroismTediousness seems to ooze out through their bindingsThe leaves fall! the leaves fall!The sincere age when one thinks aloudTired smile of those who have not long to liveTrees are like men; there are some that have no luckUniversal suffrage, with its accustomed intelligenceUpon my word, there are no ugly ones (women)Very young, and was in love with loveVoice of the heart which alone has power to reach the heartWere certain against all reasonWhen he sings, it is because he has something to sing about
COSMOPOLIS BY PAUL BOURGET, V1[IM#50][im50b10.txt]3963
Follow their thoughts instead of heeding objectsHas as much sense as the handle of a basketMediocre sensibilityNo flies enter a closed mouthPitiful checker-board of lifeScarcely a shade of gentle condescensionThat you can aid them in leading better lives?The forests have taught man libertyThere is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideasThinking it better not to lie on minor pointsToo prudent to risk or gain muchWalked at the rapid pace characteristic of monomaniacs
COSMOPOLIS BY PAUL BOURGET, V2[IM#51][im51b10.txt]3964
Conditions of blindness so voluntary that they become complicityDespotism natural to puissant personalitiesEgyptian tobacco, mixed with opium and saltpetreHave never known in the morning what I would do in the eveningI no longer love youImagine what it would be never to have been bornMelancholy problem of the birth and death of loveOnly one thing infamous in love, and that is a falsehoodWords are nothing; it is the tone in which they are uttered
COSMOPOLIS BY PAUL BOURGET, V3[IM#52][im52b10.txt]3965
One of those trustful men who did not judge when they lovedThat suffering which curses but does not pardon
COSMOPOLIS BY PAUL BOURGET, V4[IM#53][im53b10.txt]3966
Mobile and complaisant conscience had already forgiven himselfNot an excuse, but an explanation of your conductSufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparationThere is always and everywhere a duty to fulfil
ENTIRE COSMOPOLIS BY PAUL BOURGET[IM#54][im54b10.txt]3967
Conditions of blindness so voluntary that they become complicityDespotism natural to puissant personalitiesEgyptian tobacco, mixed with opium and saltpetreFollow their thoughts instead of heeding objectsHas as much sense as the handle of a basketHave never known in the morning what I would do in the eveningI no longer love youImagine what it would be never to have been bornMediocre sensibilityMelancholy problem of the birth and death of loveMobile and complaisant conscience had already forgiven himselfNo flies enter a closed mouthNot an excuse, but an explanation of your conductOne of those trustful men who did not judge when they lovedOnly one thing infamous in love, and that is a falsehoodPitiful checker-board of lifeScarcely a shade of gentle condescensionSufficed him to conceive the plan of a reparationThat suffering which curses but does not pardonThat you can aid them in leading better lives?The forests have taught man libertyThere is an intelligent man, who never questions his ideasThere is always and everywhere a duty to fulfilThinking it better not to lie on minor pointsToo prudent to risk or gain muchWalked at the rapid pace characteristic of monomaniacsWords are nothing; it is the tone in which they are uttered
JACQUELINE BY TH. BENTZON (MME. BLANC), V1[IM#55][im55b10.txt]3968
Great interval between a dream and its executionMusic—so often dangerous to married happinessOld women—at least thirty years old!Seldom troubled himself to please any one he did not care forSmall women ought not to grow stoutSympathetic listening, never having herself anything to sayThe bandage love ties over the eyes of menWaste all that upon a thing that nobody will ever look atWomen who are thirty-five should never weep
JACQUELINE BY TH. BENTZON (MME. BLANC), V2[IM#56][im56b10.txt]3969
A mother's geese are always swansBathers, who exhibited themselves in all degrees of uglinessFred's verses were not good, but they were full of dejectionHang out the bush, but keep no tavernA familiarity which, had he known it, was not flatteringHis sleeplessness was not the insomnia of geniusImportance in this world are as easily swept away as the sandNatural longing, that we all have, to know the worstNotion of her husband's having an opinion of his ownPride supplies some sufferers with necessary courageSeemed to enjoy themselves, or made believe they didThis unending warfare we call loveUnwilling to leave him to the repose he needed
JACQUELINE BY TH. BENTZON (MME. BLANC), V3[IM#57][im57b10.txt]3970
As we grow older we lay aside harsh judgments and sharp wordsBlow which annihilates our supreme illusionDeath is not that last sleepFool (there is no cure for that infirmity)The worst husband is always better than none
ENTIRE JACQUELINE BY BENTZON (MME. BLANC[IM#58][im58b10.txt]3971
A familiarity which, had he known it, was not flatteringA mother's geese are always swansAs we grow older we lay aside harsh judgments and sharp wordsBathers, who exhibited themselves in all degrees of uglinessBlow which annihilates our supreme illusionDeath is not that last sleepFool (there is no cure for that infirmity)Fred's verses were not good, but they were full of dejectionGreat interval between a dream and its executionHang out the bush, but keep no tavernHis sleeplessness was not the insomnia of geniusImportance in this world are as easily swept away as the sandMusic—so often dangerous to married happinessNatural longing, that we all have, to know the worstNotion of her husband's having an opinion of his ownOld women—at least thirty years old!Pride supplies some sufferers with necessary courageSeemed to enjoy themselves, or made believe they didSeldom troubled himself to please any one he did not care forSmall women ought not to grow stoutSympathetic listening, never having herself anything to sayThe bandage love ties over the eyes of menThe worst husband is always better than noneThis unending warfare we call loveUnwilling to leave him to the repose he neededWaste all that upon a thing that nobody will ever look atWomen who are thirty-five should never weep
THE INK-STAIN BY RENE BAZIN, V1[IM#59][im59b10.txt]3972
Happy men don't need companyLends—I should say givesNatural only when alone, and talk well only to themselvesOne doesn't offer apologies to a man in his wrathSilence, alas! is not the reproof of kings aloneThe looks of the young are always full of the futureYou a law student, while our farmers are in want of hands
THE INK-STAIN BY RENE BAZIN, V2[IM#60][im60b10.txt]3973
Came not in single spies, but in battalionsMen forget soonerSkilful actor, who apes all the emotions while feeling noneSorrows shrink into insignificance as the horizon broadensSurprise goes for so much in what we admireTo be your own guide doubles your pleasureYou must always first get the tobacco to burn evenly
THE INK-STAIN BY RENE BAZIN, V3[IM#61][im61b10.txt]3974
All that a name is to a street—its honor, its spouseDistrust first impulseFelix culpaHard that one can not live one's life over twiceHe always loved to pass for being overwhelmed with workI don't call that fishingIf trouble awaits us, hope will steal us a happy hour or twoObstacles are the salt of all our joysPeople meeting to "have it out" usually say nothing at firstThe very smell of books is improvingThere are some blunders that are lucky; but you can't tellYou ask Life for certainties, as if she had any to give you
ENTIRE THE INK-STAIN BY RENE BAZIN[IM#62][im62b10.txt]3975
All that a name is to a street—its honor, its spouseCame not in single spies, but in battalionsDistrust first impulseFelix culpaHappy men don't need companyHard that one can not live one's life over twiceHe always loved to pass for being overwhelmed with workI don't call that fishingIf trouble awaits us, hope will steal us a happy hour or twoLends—I should say givesMen forget soonerNatural only when alone, and talk well only to themselvesObstacles are the salt of all our joysOne doesn't offer apologies to a man in his wrathPeople meeting to "have it out" usually say nothing at firstSilence, alas! is not the reproof of kings aloneSkilful actor, who apes all the emotions while feeling noneSorrows shrink into insignificance as the horizon broadensSurprise goes for so much in what we admireThe very smell of books is improvingThe looks of the young are always full of the futureThere are some blunders that are lucky; but you can't tellTo be your own guide doubles your pleasureYou a law student, while our farmers are in want of handsYou must always first get the tobacco to burn evenlyYou ask Life for certainties, as if she had any to give you
FROMONT AND RISLER BY ALPHONSE DAUDET, V1[IM#63][im63b10.txt]3976
Affectation of indifferenceAlways smiling condescendinglyConvent of Saint Joseph, four shoes under the bed!Deeming every sort of occupation beneath himDreams of wealth and the disasters that immediately followedHe fixed the time mentally when he would speakLittle feathers fluttering for an opportunity to fly awayNo one has ever been able to find out what her thoughts werePass half the day in procuring two cakes, worth three sousShe was of those who disdain no complimentSuch artificial enjoyment, such idiotic laughterSuperiority of the man who does nothing over the man who worksTerrible revenge she would take hereafter for her sufferingsThe groom isn't handsome, but the bride's as pretty as a pictureThe poor must pay for all their enjoyments
FROMONT AND RISLER BY ALPHONSE DAUDET, V2[IM#64][im64b10.txt]3977
Charm of that one day's rest and its solemnityClashing knives and forks mark timeFaces taken by surprise allow their real thoughts to be seenMake for themselves a horizon of the neighboring walls and roofsWiping his forehead ostentatiously
FROMONT AND RISLER BY ALPHONSE DAUDET, V3[IM#65][im65b10.txt]3978
Abundant details which he sometimes volunteeredExaggerated dramatic pantomimeVoid in her heart, a place made ready for disasters to comeWould have liked him to be blind only so far as he was concerned
FROMONT AND RISLER BY ALPHONSE DAUDET, V4[IM#66][im66b10.txt]3979
A man may forgive, but he never forgetsWord "sacrifice," so vague on careless lips
THE ENTIRE FROMONT AND RISLER, BY DAUDET[IM#67][im67b10.txt]3980
A man may forgive, but he never forgetsAbundant details which he sometimes volunteeredAffectation of indifferenceAlways smiling condescendinglyCharm of that one day's rest and its solemnityClashing knives and forks mark timeConvent of Saint Joseph, four shoes under the bed!Deeming every sort of occupation beneath himDreams of wealth and the disasters that immediately followedExaggerated dramatic pantomimeFaces taken by surprise allow their real thoughts to be seenHe fixed the time mentally when he would speakLittle feathers fluttering for an opportunity to fly awayMake for themselves a horizon of the neighboring walls and roofsNo one has ever been able to find out what her thoughts werePass half the day in procuring two cakes, worth three sousShe was of those who disdain no complimentSuch artificial enjoyment, such idiotic laughterSuperiority of the man who does nothing over the man who worksTerrible revenge she would take hereafter for her sufferingsThe poor must pay for all their enjoymentsThe groom isn't handsome, but the bride's as pretty as a pictureVoid in her heart, a place made ready for disasters to comeWiping his forehead ostentatiouslyWord "sacrifice," so vague on careless lipsWould have liked him to be blind only so far as he was concerned