STORIES /gutenberg/etext01/vlrbn10.txt

          Villa Rubein
          A Man of Devon
          A Knight
          Salvation of a Forsyte
          The Silence

PASSAGES FROM THE TEXT:

I wish you would attend to your own faults, and not pry into other people's.

But I think that when we hope, we are not brave, because we are expecting something for ourselves. Chris says that hope is prayer, and if it is prayer, then all the time we are hoping, we are asking for something, and it is not brave to ask for things.

Then from in front I heard sobbing—a man's sobs; no sound is quite so dreadful.

"Ah!" muttered Mr. Treffry, "you're obstinate enough, but obstinacy isn't strength."

It has always been my, belief that a man must neither beg anything of a woman, nor force anything from her. Women are generous—they will give you what they can.

Has it ever struck you that each one of us lives on the edge of a volcano? There is, I imagine, no one who has not some affection or interest so strong that he counts the rest for nothing, beside it.

LINES FROM THE TEXT:

All I know is, I've got to work
Attend to your own faults, and not pry into other people's
Beastly as a vulgar woman's laugh
But one's alone when it comes to the run-in
Can we never have quite enough?
Charming generalities
Constitutionally averse to being pitied
Contentment that men experience at the misfortunes of an enemy
Could never tell exactly when to stop
Each one of us lives on the edge of a volcano
Every bird singing from the bottom of his heart
Fear and anger in me are very much the same
Free from all self-consciousness
Her imperfections were beautiful to me
How simply he assumed that he was going to be great
In a time of agony one finds out what are the things one can do
It seems always rude to speak the truth
Man can only endure about half his joy; about half his sorrow
Man must neither beg anything of a woman, nor force anything
Men who haven't the courage of their own ideas
Never grossly drunk, and rarely very sober
Not a bad rule that measures men by the balance at their banks
Obstinate enough, but obstinacy isn't strength
Only understand what they can see and touch
People may become utter strangers without a word
So sacred that they melt away at the approach of words
Spring; it makes one want more than one has got
Time is everything
What is it to be brave?
What's not enough for one is not enough for two
When things have come to a crisis, how little one feels
When we hope, we are not brave
With an air of sacrificing to the public good
Women are generous—they will give you what they can
You can't punish unless you make to feel
You may force a body; how can you force a soul?
You're glad that hope is dead, it means rest

SAINT'S PROGRESS /gutenberg/etext01/saint10.txt

PASSAGES FROM THE TEXT:

The Russian proverb: "The heart of another is a dark forest."

We're used to it, you see; there's no excitement in what you're used to.

If geological time be taken as twenty-four hours, man's existence on earth so far equals just two seconds of it; after a few more seconds, when man has been frozen off the earth, geological time will stretch for as long again, before the earth bumps into something, and be comes nebula once more. God's hands haven't been particularly full, sir, have they— two seconds out of twenty-four hours—if man is His pet concern?

"People do not like you to be different. If ever in your life you act differently from others, you will find it so, mademoiselle."

She never went to meet life, but when it came, made the best of it. This was her secret, and Pierson always felt rested in her presence.

He opened the gate, uttering one of those prayers which come so glibly from unbelievers when they want anything.

LINES FROM THE TEXT:

Aesthetic admiration for that old Church
Agreed in the large, and differed in the narrow
All life seemed suddenly a thing of forms and sham
And I don't want to be forgiven
At my age one expects no more than one gets!
Avoided discussion on matters where he might hurt others
Conquests leading to defeats, defeats to conquests
Could not as yet disagree with suavity
Cunning, the astute, the adaptable, will ever rule in times of peace
Daddy's a darling; but I don't always believe what he believes
Depressing to think that I would go on living after death
Difficult for a good man to see the evil round him
Efforts to eliminate instinct
Events are the parents of the future
Events were the children of the past
For we are mad—nothing to speak of, but just a little
Forget all about oneself in what one is doing
God is the helping of man by man
Happiness never comes when you are looking for it
I don't believe, and I can't pray
I shall hate God for His cruelty
I think it's cruel that we can't take what we can while we can
If he'd drop the habits of authority
If you're not ashamed of yourself, no one will be ashamed of you
In opening your hearts you feel that you lose authority
It must be dreadful to grow old, and pass the time!
Let the dead past bury its dead
Life's a huge wide adaptable thing!
Man is His pet concern?
Marvellous speeder-up of Love is War
Men will be just as brutal afterwards—more brutal
My mistress, mademoiselle, is not a thing of flesh. It is art
Needs must when the devil drives—that's all
Oughtn't to mind us taking what we can
People do not like you to be different
Prayers which come so glibly from unbelievers
Revolt against a world so murderous and uncharitable
Seemed to know that in silence was her strength
She never went to meet life
Sheer pride; and I can't subdue it
Silence was her strength
So absorbed in his dismay and concern, that he was almost happy
Speak, or keep silent; try to console; try to pretend?
The heart of another is a dark forest
The talked-about is always the last to hear the talk
The tongue and the pen will rule them
Their lovering had advanced by glance and touch alone
There's no excitement in what you're used to
There's no room on earth for saints in authority
Things are; and we have just to take them
Too long immune from criticism
Too-consciousness that Time was after her
Trust our reason and our senses for what they're worth
Unself-consciousness
Voices had a hard, half-jovial vulgarity
Wake at night and hear the howling of all the packs of the world
We can only find out for ourselves
We can only help ourselves; and I can only bear it if I rebel
We can't take things at second-hand any longer
We do think we ought to have the run of them while we're alive
We love you, but you are not in our secrets
We want to own our consciences
We want to think and decide things for ourselves
What we do is not wrong till it's proved wrong by the result
World will go on the same
You really think God merciful, sir
You think I don't know my own feelings, but I do

THE ISLAND PHARISEES /gutenberg/etext01/saint10.txt

PASSAGES FROM THE TEXT:

Their life seemed to