gars of
whom small towns are proud

Miserable beings who contribute to the
grandeur of the past

Nobody troubled himself about that
originality

None but fools resisted the current

Not everything is known, but everything
is said

Nothing is so legitimate, so human, as
to deceive pain

One would think that the wind would put
them out: the stars

One who first thought of pasting a
canvas on a panel

One is never kind when one is in love

One should never leave the one whom one
loves

Picturesquely ugly

Recesses of her mind which she
preferred not to open

Relatives whom she did not know and who
irritated her

Seemed to him that men were grains in a
coffee-mill

She pleased society by appearing to
find pleasure in it

She is happy, since she likes to
remember

Should like better to do an immoral
thing than a cruel one

Simple people who doubt neither
themselves nor others

Since she was in love, she had lost
prudence

So well satisfied with his reply that
he repeated it twice

Superior men sometimes lack cleverness

That sort of cold charity which is
called altruism

That if we live the reason is that we
hope

That absurd and generous fury for
ownership

The most radical breviary of scepticism
since Montaigne

The door of one's room opens on the
infinite

The past is the only human reality--
Everything that is, is past

The one whom you will love and who will
love you will harm you

The violent pleasure of losing

The discouragement which the
irreparable gives

The real support of a government is the
Opposition

The politician never should be in
advance of circumstances

There is nothing good except to ignore
and to forget

There are many grand and strong things
which you do not feel

They are the coffin saying: 'I am the
cradle'

To be beautiful, must a woman have that
thin form

Trying to make Therese admire what she
did not know

Umbrellas, like black turtles under the
watery skies

Unfortunate creature who is the
plaything of life

Was I not warned enough of the sadness
of everything?

We are too happy; we are robbing life

What will be the use of having
tormented ourselves in this world

Whether they know or do not know, they
talk

Women do not always confess it, but it
is always their fault

You must take me with my own soul!

ABBE CONSTANTIN, By Ludovic Halevey

Ancient pillars of stone, embrowned and
gnawed by