The Project Gutenberg Etext of Quotations of The French Immortals #16 in our series of Widger's Quotations by David Widger
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Title: Widger's Quotations from The Immortals of the French Academy
Author: David Widger
Release Date: May, 2003 [Etext #4001]
[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
[The actual date this file first posted = 10/06/01]
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*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END*
This etext was produced by David Widger <[email protected].
WIDGER'S QUOTATIONS
FROM THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EDITION OF THE IMMORTALS OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY
EDITOR'S NOTE
Readers acquainted with the Immortals series of the French Academy may wish to see if their favorite passages are listed in this selection. The etext editor will be glad to add your suggestions. One of the advantages of internet over paper publication is the ease of quick revision.
All the titles may be found using the Project Gutenberg search engine at: http://promo.net/pg/
After downloading a specific file, the location and complete context of the quotations may be found by inserting a small part of the quotation into the 'Find' or 'Search' functions of the user's word processing program.
The quotations are in two formats: 1. Small passages from the text. 2. Lists of alphabetized one-liners.
The editor may be contacted at <[email protected]> for comments, questions or suggested additions to these extracts.
D.W.
THE ENTIRE PROJECT GUTENBERG EDITION OF THE FRENCH IMMORTALS
CROWNED BY THE FRENCH ACADEMY
CONTENTS: (listed in reversed order)
Apr 2003 Entire PG Edition of The French Immortals [IM#87][imewk10.txt]4000
Apr 2003 Entire An "Attic" Philosopher by Souvestre [IM#86][im86b10.txt]3999
Apr 2003 An "Attic" Philosopher by E. Souvestre, v3 [IM#85][im85b10.txt]3998
Apr 2003 An "Attic" Philosopher by E. Souvestre, v2 [IM#84][im84b10.txt]3997
Apr 2003 An "Attic" Philosopher by E. Souvestre, v1 [IM#83][im83b10.txt]3996
Apr 2003 The Entire Madame Chrysantheme by Loti [IM#82][im82b10.txt]3995
Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v4 [IM#81][im81b10.txt]3994
Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v3 [IM#80][im80b10.txt]3993
Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v2 [IM#79][im79b10.txt]3992
Apr 2003 Madame Chrysantheme by Pierre Loti, v1 [IM#78][im78b10.txt]3991
Apr 2003 The Entire Conscience by Hector Malot [IM#77][im77b10.txt]3990
Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v4 [IM#76][im76b10.txt]3989
Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v3 [IM#75][im75b10.txt]3988
Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v2 [IM#74][im74b10.txt]3987
Apr 2003 Conscience by Hector Malot, v1 [IM#73][im73b10.txt]3986
Apr 2003 The Entire Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard [IM#72][im72b10.txt]3885
Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v4 [IM#71][im71b10.txt]3984
Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v3 [IM#70][im70b10.txt]3983
Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v2 [IM#69][im69b10.txt]3982
Apr 2003 Gerfaut by Charles de Bernard, v1 [IM#68][im68b10.txt]3981
Apr 2003 The Entire Fromont and Risler, by Daudet [IM#67][im67b10.txt]3980
Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v4 [IM#66][im66b10.txt]3979
Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v3 [IM#65][im65b10.txt]3978
Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v2 [IM#64][im64b10.txt]3977
Apr 2003 Fromont and Risler by Alphonse Daudet, v1 [IM#63][im63b10.txt]3976
Apr 2003 Entire The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin [IM#62][im62b10.txt]3975
Apr 2003 The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v3 [IM#61][im61b10.txt]3974
Apr 2003 The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v2 [IM#60][im60b10.txt]3973
Apr 2003 The Ink-Stain by Rene Bazin, v1 [IM#59][im59b10.txt]3972
Apr 2003 Entire Jacqueline by Bentzon (Mme. Blanc) [IM#58][im58b10.txt]3971
Apr 2003 Jacqueline by Th. Bentzon (Mme. Blanc), v3 [IM#57][im57b10.txt]3970
Apr 2003 Jacqueline by Th. Bentzon (Mme. Blanc), v2 [IM#56][im56b10.txt]3969
Apr 2003 Jacqueline by Th. Bentzon (Mme. Blanc), v1 [IM#55][im55b10.txt]3968
Apr 2003 Entire Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget [IM#54][im54b10.txt]3967
Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v4 [IM#53][im53b10.txt]3966
Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v3 [IM#52][im52b10.txt]3965
Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v2 [IM#51][im51b10.txt]3964
Apr 2003 Cosmopolis by Paul Bourget, v1 [IM#50][im50b10.txt]3963
Apr 2003 Entire Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee [IM#49][im49b10.txt]3962
Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v4 [IM#48][im48b10.txt]3961
Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v3 [IM#47][im47b10.txt]3960
Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v2 [IM#46][im46b10.txt]3959
Apr 2003 A Romance of Youth by Francois Coppee, v1 [IM#45][im45b10.txt]3958
Apr 2003 Entire L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy [IM#44][im44b10.txt]3957
Apr 2003 L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v3 [IM#43][im43b10.txt]3956
Apr 2003 L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v2 [IM#42][im42b10.txt]3955
Apr 2003 L'Abbe Constantin by Ludovic Halevy, v1 [IM#41][im41b10.txt]3954
Apr 2003 The Entire Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny [IM#40][im40b10.txt]3953
Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v6 [IM#39][im39b10.txt]3952
Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v5 [IM#38][im38b10.txt]3951
Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v4 [IM#37][im37b10.txt]3950
Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v3 [IM#36][im36b10.txt]3949
Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v2 [IM#35][im35b10.txt]3948
Apr 2003 Cinq Mars, by Alfred de Vigny, v1 [IM#34][im34b10.txt]3947
Apr 2003 Entire Monsieur de Camors by Oct. Feuillet [IM#33][im33b10.txt]3946
Apr 2003 Monsieur de Camors by Octave Feuillet, v3 [IM#32][im32b10.txt]3945
Apr 2003 Monsieur de Camors by Octave Feuillet, v2 [IM#31][im31b10.txt]3944
Apr 2003 Monsieur de Camors by Octave Feuillet, v1 [IM#30][im30b10.txt]3943
Apr 2003 Entire Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset[IM#29][im29b10.txt]3942
Apr 2003 Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v3 [IM#28][im28b10.txt]3941
Apr 2003 Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v2 [IM#27][im27b10.txt]3940
Apr 2003 Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v1 [IM#26][im26b10.txt]3939
Apr 2003 Entire A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet [IM#25][im25b10.txt]3938
Apr 2003 A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet, v3 [IM#24][im24b10.txt]3937
Apr 2003 A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet, v2 [IM#23][im23b10.txt]3936
Apr 2003 A Woodland Queen, by Andre Theuriet, v1 [IM#22][im22b10.txt]3935
Apr 2003 The Entire Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa [IM#21][im21b10.txt]3934
Apr 2003 Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa, v3 [IM#20][im20b10.txt]3933
Apr 2003 Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa, v2 [IM#19][im19b10.txt]3932
Apr 2003 Zebiline by Phillipe de Masa, v1 [IM#18][im18b10.txt]3931
Apr 2003 The Entire Prince Zilah by Jules Claretie [IM#17][im17b10.txt]3930
Apr 2003 Prince Zilah, by Jules Claretie, v3 [IM#16][im16b10.txt]3929
Apr 2003 Prince Zilah, by Jules Claretie, v2 [IM#15][im15b10.txt]3928
Apr 2003 Prince Zilah, by
Apr 2003 The Entire MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz [IM#13][im13b10.txt]3926
Apr 2003 MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz, v3 [IM#12][im12b10.txt]3925
Apr 2003 MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz, v2 [IM#11][im11b10.txt]3924
Apr 2003 MM.and Bebe by Gustave Droz, v1 [IM#10][im10b10.txt]3923
Apr 2003 Entire The Red Lily, by Anatole France [IM#09][im09b10.txt]3922
Apr 2003 The Red Lily, by Anatole France, v3 [IM#08][im08b10.txt]3921
Apr 2003 The Red Lily, by Anatole France, v2 [IM#07][im07b10.txt]3920
Apr 2003 The Red Lily, by Anatole France, v1 [IM#06][im06b10.txt]3919
Apr 2003 The Entire Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet [IM#05][im05b10.txt]3918
Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v4 [IM#04][im04b10.txt]3917
Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v3 [IM#03][im03b10.txt]3916
Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v2 [IM#02][im02b10.txt]3915
Apr 2003 Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v1 [IM#01][im01b10.txt]3914
GENERAL INTRODUCTION TO THE SERIES BY GASTON BOISSIER, SECRETAIRE PERPETUEL DE L'ACADEMIE FRANCAISE.
The editor-in-chief of the Maison Mazarin—a man of letters who cherishes an enthusiastic yet discriminating love for the literary and artistic glories of France—formed within the last two pears the great project of collecting and presenting to the vast numbers of intelligent readers of whom New World boasts a series of those great and undying romances which, since 1784, have received the crown of merit awarded by the French Academy—that coveted assurance of immortality in letters and in art.
In the presentation of this serious enterprise for the criticism and official sanction of The Academy, 'en seance', was included a request that, if possible, the task of writing a preface to the series should be undertaken by me. Official sanction having been bestowed upon the plan, I, as the accredited officer of the French Academy, convey to you its hearty appreciation, endorsement, and sympathy with a project so nobly artistic. It is also my duty, privilege, and pleasure to point out, at the request of my brethren, the peculiar importance and lasting value of this series to all who would know the inner life of a people whose greatness no turns of fortune have been able to diminish.
In the last hundred years France has experienced the most terrible vicissitudes, but, vanquished or victorious, triumphant or abased, never has she lost her peculiar gift of attracting the curiosity of the world. She interests every living being, and even those who do not love her desire to know her. To this peculiar attraction which radiates from her, artists and men of letters can well bear witness, since it is to literature and to the arts, before all, that France owes such living and lasting power. In every quarter of the civilized world there are distinguished writers, painters, and eminent musicians, but in France they exist in greater numbers than elsewhere. Moreover, it is universally conceded that French writers and artists have this particular and praiseworthy quality: they are most accessible to people of other countries. Without losing their national characteristics, they possess the happy gift of universality. To speak of letters alone: the books that Frenchmen write are read, translated, dramatized, and imitated everywhere; so it is not strange that these books give to foreigners a desire for a nearer and more intimate acquaintance with France.
Men preserve an almost innate habit of resorting to Paris from almost every quarter of the globe. For many years American visitors have been more numerous than others, although the journey from the United States is long and costly. But I am sure that when for the first time they see Paris—its palaces, its churches, its museums—and visit Versailles, Fontainebleau, and Chantilly, they do not regret the travail they have undergone. Meanwhile, however, I ask myself whether such sightseeing is all that, in coming hither, they wish to accomplish. Intelligent travellers—and, as a rule, it is the intelligent class that feels the need of the educative influence of travel—look at our beautiful monuments, wander through the streets and squares among the crowds that fill them, and, observing them, I ask myself again: Do not such people desire to study at closer range these persons who elbow them as they pass; do they not wish to enter the houses of which they see but the facades; do they not wish to know how Parisians live and speak and act by their firesides? But time, alas! is lacking for the formation of those intimate friendships which would bring this knowledge within their grasp. French homes are rarely open to birds of passage, and visitors leave us with regret that they have not been able to see more than the surface of our civilization or to recognize by experience the note of our inner home life.
How, then, shall this void be filled? Speaking in the first person, the simplest means appears to be to study those whose profession it is to describe the society of the time, and primarily, therefore, the works of dramatic writers, who are supposed to draw a faithful picture of it. So we go to the theatre, and usually derive keen pleasure therefrom. But is pleasure all that we expect to find? What we should look for above everything in a comedy or a drama is a representation, exact as possible, of the manners and characters of the dramatis persona of the play; and perhaps the conditions under which the play was written do not allow such representation. The exact and studied portrayal of a character demands from the author long preparation, and cannot be accomplished in a few hours. From, the first scene to the last, each tale must be posed in the author's mind exactly as it will be proved to be at the end. It is the author's aim and mission to place completely before his audience the souls of the "agonists" laying bare the complications of motive, and throwing into relief the delicate shades of motive that sway them. Often, too, the play is produced before a numerous audience—an audience often distrait, always pressed for time, and impatient of the least delay. Again, the public in general require that they shall be able to understand without difficulty, and at first thought, the characters the author seeks to present, making it necessary that these characters be depicted from their most salient sides—which are too often vulgar and unattractive.
In our comedies and dramas it is not the individual that is drawn, but the type. Where the individual alone is real, the type is a myth of the imagination—a pure invention. And invention is the mainspring of the theatre, which rests purely upon illusion, and does not please us unless it begins by deceiving us.
I believe, then, that if one seeks to know the world exactly as it is, the theatre does not furnish the means whereby one can pursue the study. A far better opportunity for knowing the private life of a people is available through the medium of its great novels. The novelist deals with each person as an individual. He speaks to his reader at an hour when the mind is disengaged from worldly affairs, and he can add without restraint every detail that seems needful to him to complete the rounding of his story. He can return at will, should he choose, to the source of the plot he is unfolding, in order that his reader may better understand him; he can emphasize and dwell upon those details which an audience in a theatre will not allow.
The reader, being at leisure, feels no impatience, for he knows that he can at any time lay down or take up the book. It is the consciousness of this privilege that gives him
When I add that the dramatic author is always to a certain extent a slave to the public, and must ever seek to please the passing taste of his time, it will be recognized that he is often, alas! compelled to sacrifice his artistic leanings to popular caprice-that is, if he has the natural desire that his generation should applaud him.
As a rule, with the theatre-going masses, one person follows the fads or fancies of others, and individual judgments are too apt to be irresistibly swayed by current opinion. But the novelist, entirely independent of his reader, is not compelled to conform himself to the opinion of any person, or to submit to his caprices. He is absolutely free to picture society as he sees it, and we therefore can have more confidence in his descriptions of the customs and characters of the day.
It is precisely this view of the case that the editor of the series has taken, and herein is the raison d'etre of this collection of great French romances. The choice was not easy to make. That form of literature called the romance abounds with us. France has always loved it, for French writers exhibit a curiosity—and I may say an indiscretion—that is almost charming in the study of customs and morals at large; a quality that induces them to talk freely of themselves and of their neighbors, and to set forth fearlessly both the good and the bad in human nature. In this fascinating phase of literature, France never has produced greater examples than of late years.
In the collection here presented to American readers will be found those works especially which reveal the intimate side of French social life- works in which are discussed the moral problems that affect most potently the life of the world at large. If inquiring spirits seek to learn the customs and manners of the France of any age, they must look for it among her crowned romances. They need go back no farther than Ludovic Halevy, who may be said to open the modern epoch. In the romantic school, on its historic side, Alfred de Vigny must be looked upon as supreme. De Musset and Anatole France may be taken as revealing authoritatively the moral philosophy of nineteenth-century thought. I must not omit to mention the Jacqueline of Th. Bentzon, and the "Attic" Philosopher of Emile Souvestre, nor the, great names of Loti, Claretie, Coppe, Bazin, Bourget, Malot, Droz, De Massa, and last, but not least, our French Dickens, Alphonse Daudet. I need not add more; the very names of these "Immortals" suffice to commend the series to readers in all countries.
One word in conclusion: America may rest assured that her students of international literature will find in this series of 'ouvrages couronnes' all that they may wish to know of France at her own fireside—a knowledge that too often escapes them, knowledge that embraces not only a faithful picture of contemporary life in the French provinces, but a living and exact description of French society in modern times. They may feel certain that when they have read these romances, they will have sounded the depths and penetrated into the hidden intimacies of France, not only as she is, but as she would be known.
GASTON BOISSIER
SECRETAIRE PERPETUEL DE L'ACADEMIE FRANCAISE
THE IMMORTALS OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY
SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET
SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V1
[IM#01][im01b10.txt]3914
A man weeps with difficulty before a woman
Antagonism to plutocracy and hatred of aristocrats
Enough to be nobody's unless I belong to him
Even those who do not love her desire to know her
Flayed and roasted alive by the critics
Hard workers are pitiful lovers
He lost his time, his money, his hair, his illusions
He was very unhappy at being misunderstood
I thought the best means of being loved were to deserve it
Men of pleasure remain all their lives mediocre workers
My aunt is jealous of me because I am a man of ideas
Negroes, all but monkeys!
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
Unqualified for happiness
You are talking too much about it to be sincere
SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V2
[IM#02][im02b10.txt]3915
A uniform is the only garb which can hide poverty honorably
Forget a dream and accept a reality
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?
Nothing that provokes laughter more than a disappointed lover
Suffering is a human law; the world is an arena
The uncontested power which money brings
We had taken the dream of a day for eternal happiness
What is a man who remains useless
SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V3
[IM#03][im03b10.txt]3916
Because they moved, they thought they were progressing
Everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation, and nullity
It was a relief when they rose from the table
Money troubles are not mortal
One amuses one's self at the risk of dying
Scarcely was one scheme launched when another idea occurred
Talk with me sometimes. You will not chatter trivialities
They had only one aim, one passion—to enjoy themselves
Without a care or a cross, he grew weary like a prisoner
SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET, V4
[IM#04][im04b10.txt]3917
Cowardly in trouble as he had been insolent in prosperity
Heed that you lose not in dignity what you gain in revenge
She would have liked the world to be in mourning
The guilty will not feel your blows, but the innocent
THE ENTIRE SERGE PANINE, BY GEORGES OHNET
[IM#05][im05b10.txt]3918
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
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
THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE
THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE, V1
[IM#06][im06b10.txt]3919
A hero must be human. Napoleon was human
Anti-Semitism is making fearful progress everywhere
Brilliancy of a fortune too new
Curious to know her face of that day
Do you think that people have not talked about us?
Each had regained freedom, but he did not like to be alone
Fringe which makes an unlovely border to the city
Gave value to her affability by not squandering it
He could not imagine that often words are the same as actions
He does not bear ill-will to those whom he persecutes
He is not intelligent enough to doubt
He studied until the last moment
Her husband had become quite bearable
His habit of pleasing had prolonged his youth
I feel in them (churches) the grandeur of nothingness
I gave myself to him because he loved me
I haven't a taste, I have tastes
It was too late: she did not wish to win
Knew that life is not worth so much anxiety nor so much hope
Laughing in every wrinkle of his face
Learn to live without desire
Life as a whole is too vast and too remote
Life is made up of just such trifles
Life is not a great thing
Love was only a brief intoxication
Made life give all it could yield
Miserable beings who contribute to the grandeur of the past
None but fools resisted the current
Not everything is known, but everything is said
One would think that the wind would put them out: the stars
Picturesquely ugly
Recesses of her mind which she preferred not to open
Relatives whom she did not know and who irritated her
She is happy, since she likes to remember
She pleased society by appearing to find pleasure in it
Should like better to do an immoral thing than a cruel one
So well satisfied with his reply that he repeated it twice
That if we live the reason is that we hope
That sort of cold charity which is called altruism
The discouragement which the irreparable gives
The most radical breviary of scepticism since Montaigne
The violent pleasure of losing
Umbrellas, like black turtles under the watery skies
Was I not warned enough of the sadness of everything?
Whether they know or do not know, they talk
THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE, V2
[IM#07][im07b10.txt]3920
A woman is frank when she does not lie uselessly
Disappointed her to escape the danger she had feared
Does not wish one to treat it with either timidity or brutality
He knew now the divine malady of love
I do not desire your friendship
I have known things which I know no more
I wished to spoil our past
Impatient at praise which was not destined for himself
Incapable of conceiving that one might talk without an object
Jealous without having the right to be jealous
Lovers never separate kindly
Magnificent air of those beggars of whom small towns are proud
Nobody troubled himself about that originality
One who first thought of pasting a canvas on a panel
Simple people who doubt neither themselves nor others
Superior men sometimes lack cleverness
The door of one's room opens on the infinite
The one whom you will love and who will love you will harm you
The past is the only human reality—Everything that is, is past
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
Unfortunate creature who is the plaything of life
What will be the use of having tormented ourselves in this world
Women do not always confess it, but it is always their fault
You must take me with my own soul!
THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE, V3
[IM#08][im08b10.txt]3921
Does one ever possess what one loves?
Each was moved with self-pity
Everybody knows about that
(Housemaid) is trained to respect my disorder
I can forget you only when I am with you
I have to pay for the happiness you give me
I love myself because you love me
Ideas they think superior to love—faith, habits, interests
Immobility of time
It is an error to be in the right too soon
It was torture for her not to be able to rejoin him
Kissses and caresses are the effort of a delightful despair
Let us give to men irony and pity as witnesses and judges
Little that we can do when we are powerful
Love is a soft and terrible force, more powerful than beauty
Nothing is so legitimate, so human, as to deceive pain
One is never kind when one is in love
One should never leave the one whom one loves
Seemed to him that men were grains in a coffee-mill
Since she was in love, she had lost prudence
That absurd and generous fury for ownership
The politician never should be in advance of circumstances
The real support of a government is the Opposition
There is nothing good except to ignore and to forget
We are too happy; we are robbing life
ENTIRE THE RED LILY, BY ANATOLE FRANCE
[IM#09][im09b10.txt]3922
A woman is frank when she does not lie uselessly
A hero must be human. Napoleon was human
Anti-Semitism is making fearful progress everywhere
Brilliancy of a fortune too new
Curious to know her face of that day
Disappointed her to escape the danger she had feared
Do you think that people have not talked about us?
Does not wish one to treat it with either timidity or brutality
Does one ever possess what one loves?
Each had regained freedom, but he did not like to be alone
Each was moved with self-pity
Everybody knows about that
Fringe which makes an unlovely border to the city
Gave value to her affability by not squandering it
He could not imagine that often words are the same as actions
He studied until the last moment
He is not intelligent enough to doubt
He knew now the divine malady of love
Her husband had become quite bearable
His habit of pleasing had prolonged his youth
(Housemaid) is trained to respect my disorder
I love myself because you love me
I can forget you only when I am with you
I wished to spoil our past
I feel in them (churches) the grandeur of nothingness
I have to pay for the happiness you give me
I gave myself to him because he loved me
I haven't a taste, I have tastes
I have known things which I know no more
I do not desire your friendship
Ideas they think superior to love—faith, habits, interests
Immobility of time
Impatient at praise which was not destined for himself
Incapable of conceiving that one might talk without an object
It was torture for her not to be able to rejoin him
It is an error to be in the right too soon
It was too late: she did not wish to win
Jealous without having the right to be jealous
Kissses and caresses are the effort of a delightful despair
Knew that life is not worth so much anxiety nor so much hope
Laughing in every wrinkle of his face
Learn to live without desire
Let us give to men irony and pity as witnesses and judges
Life as a whole is too vast and too remote
Life is made up of just such trifles
Life is not a great thing
Little that we can do when we are powerful
Love is a soft and terrible force, more powerful than beauty
Love was only a brief intoxication
Lovers never separate kindly
Made life give all it could yield
Magnificent air of those beggars 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!