," said Andras; "but I
could not forget"

If well-informed people are to be
believe

Insanity is, perhaps, simply the ideal
realized

It is so good to know nothing, nothing,
nothing

Let the dead past bury its dead!

Life is a tempest

Man who expects nothing of life except
its ending

Nervous natures, as prompt to hope as
to despair

No answer to make to one who has no
right to question me

Not only his last love, but his only
love

Nothing ever astonishes me

One of those beings who die, as they
have lived, children

Pessimism of to-day sneering at his
confidence of yesterday

Playing checkers, that mimic warfare of
old men

Poverty brings wrinkles

Sufferer becomes, as it were, enamored
of his own agony

Superstition which forbids one to
proclaim his happiness

Taken the times as they are

The Hungarian was created on horseback

There were too many discussions, and
not enough action

Unable to speak, for each word would
have been a sob

What matters it how much we suffer

Why should I read the newspapers?

Willingly seek a new sorrow

Would not be astonished at anything

You suffer? Is fate so just as that

A ROMANCE OF YOUTH, By Francois Coppee

Break in his memory, like a book with
several leaves torn out

Dreams, instead of living

Egotists and cowards always have a
reason for everything

Eternally condemned to kill each other
in order to live

Fortunate enough to keep those one
loves

God forgive the timid and the prattler!

Good form consists, above all things,
in keeping silent

Happiness exists only by snatches and
lasts only a moment

He does not know the miseries of
ambition and vanity

He almost regretted her

How sad these old memorics are in the
autumn

Inoffensive tree which never had harmed
anybody

Intimate friend, whom he has known for
about five minutes

It was all delightfully terrible!

Learned that one leaves college almost
ignorant

Mild, unpretentious men who let
everybody run over them

My good fellow, you are quite worthless
as a man of pleasure

Never travel when the heart is
troubled!

Not more honest than necessary

Now his grief was his wife, and lived
with him

Paint from nature

Poor France of Jeanne d'Arc and of
Napoleon

Redouble their boasting after each
defeat

Society people condemned to hypocrisy
and falsehood

Take their levity for heroism

Tediousness seems to ooze out