SERGE PANINE, By George Ohnet
A man weeps with difficulty before a woman
A uniform is the only garb which can hide
poverty honorably
Antagonism to plutocracy and hatred of
aristocrats
Because they moved, they thought they were
progressing
Cowardly in trouble as he had been insolent
in prosperity
Enough to be nobody's unless I belong to him
Even those who do not love her desire to
know her
Everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation,
and nullity
Flayed and roasted alive by the critics
Forget a dream and accept a reality
Hard workers are pitiful lovers
He lost his time, his money, his hair, his
illusions
He was very unhappy at being misunderstood
Heed that you lose not in dignity what you gain
in revenge
I thought the best means of being loved were
to deserve it
I don't pay myself with words
Implacable self-interest which is the law of
the world
In life it is only nonsense that is
common-sense
Is a man ever poor when he has two arms?
Is it by law only that you wish to keep me?
It was a relief when they rose from the table
Men of pleasure remain all their lives
mediocre workers
Money troubles are not mortal
My aunt is jealous of me because I am a
man of ideas
Negroes, all but monkeys!
Nothing that provokes laughter more than a
disappointed lover
One amuses one's self at the risk of dying
Patience, should he encounter a dull page
here or there
Romanticism still ferments beneath the
varnish of Naturalism
Sacrifice his artistic leanings to popular
caprice
Scarcely was one scheme launched when another
idea occurred
She would have liked the world to be in mourning
Suffering is a human law; the world is an arena
Talk with me sometimes. You will not chatter
trivialities
The guilty will not feel your blows, but the
innocent
The uncontested power which money brings
They had only one aim, one passion—to enjoy
themselves
Unqualified for happiness
We had taken the dream of a day for eternal
happiness
What is a man who remains useless
Without a care or a cross, he grew weary
like a prisoner
You are talking too much about it to be
sincere
AN "ATTIC" PHILOSOPHER, By Emile Souvestre
Always to mistake feeling for evidence
Ambroise Pare: 'I tend him, God cures
him!'
Are we then bound to others only by the
enforcement of laws
Attach a sense of remorse to each of my
pleasures
Brought them up to poverty
But above these ruins rises a calm and
happy face
Carn-ival means, literally, "farewell
to flesh!"
Coffee is the grand work of a
bachelor's housekeeping
Contemptuous pride of knowledge
Death, that faithful friend of the
wretched
Defeat and victory only displace each
other by turns
Did not think the world was so great
Do they understand what makes them so
gay?
Each of us regards himself as the
mirror of the community
Ease with which the poor forget their
wretchedness
Every one keeps his holidays in his own
way
Fame and power are gifts that are
dearly bought
Favorite and conclusive answer of his
class—"I know"
Fear of losing a moment from business
Finishes his sin thoroughly before he
begins to repent
Fortune sells what we believe she gives
Her kindness, which never sleeps
Houses are vessels which take mere
passengers
Hubbub of questions which waited for no
reply
I make it a rule never to have any hope
Ignorant of what there is to wish for
Looks on an accomplished duty neither
as a merit nor a grievance
Make himself a name: he becomes public
property
Moderation is the great social virtue
More stir than work
My patronage has become her property
No one is so unhappy as to have nothing
to give
Not desirous to teach goodness
Nothing is dishonorable which is useful
Our tempers are like an opera-glass
Poverty, you see, is a famous
schoolmistress
Power of necessity
Prisoners of work
Progress can never be forced on without
danger
Question is not to discover what will
suit us
Richer than France herself, for I have
no deficit in my budget
Ruining myself, but we must all have
our Carnival
Satisfy our wants, if we know how to
set bounds to them
Sensible man, who has observed much and
speaks little
So much confidence at first, so much
doubt at las
Sullen tempers are excited by the
patience of their victims
The happiness of the wise man costs but
little
The man in power gives up his peace
Two thirds of human existence are
wasted in hesitation
Virtue made friends, but she did not
take pupils
We do not understand that others may
live on their own account
We are not bound to live, while we are
bound to do our duty
What have you done with the days God
granted you
What a small dwelling joy can live
You may know the game by the lair