common sense which borders on stupidity
Let them respect my convictions, and I will respect theirs
Love that is sacred—not marriage!
Mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majority
Night-robe of streams and meadows
Only being allowed to read religious works or cook-books
Poetry did not seem to be the strong point
Purgatory and paradise according to the yearly income
She went through life in a mood of perpetual discontent
So stupid and they pretend they know everything
Spend his time quietly regretting the past
The tomb is the boundary of conjugal sinning
When we love, we have need of confession
World has made laws to combat our instincts

SHORT STORIES V10
[GM#11][gm10v10.txt]3086

"I heard 'birr! birr!' and a magnificent covey rose at ten paces from me. I aimed. Pif! paf! and I saw a shower, a veritable shower of birds. There were seven of them!"—And they all went into raptures, amazed, but reciprocally credulous.

She was still smiling as she looked at him; she even began to laugh; and he lost his head trying to find something suitable to say, no matter what. But he could think of nothing, nothing, and then, seized with a coward's courage, he said to himself: 'So much the worse, I will risk everything,' and suddenly, without the slightest warning, he went toward her, his arms extended, his lips protruding, and, seizing her in his arms, he kissed her.

My elder sons never loved me, never petted me, scarcely treated me as a mother, but during my whole life I did my duty towards them, and I owe them nothing more after my death. The ties of blood cannot exist without daily and constant affection. An ungrateful son is less than, a stranger; he is a culprit, for he has no right to be indifferent towards his mother.

SHORT STORIES V11
[GM#12][gm11v10.txt]3087

I held my tongue, and thought over those words. Oh, ethics! Oh, logic! Oh, wisdom! At his age! So they deprived him of his only remaining pleasure out of regard for his health! His health! What would he do with it, inert and trembling wreck that he was? They were taking care of his life, so they said. His life? How many days? Ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred? Why? For his own sake? Or to preserve for some time longer the spectacle of his impotent greediness in the family.

But all at once one envelope made me start. My name was traced on it in a large, bold handwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes. That letter was from my dearest friend, the companion of my youth, the confidant of my hopes; and he appeared before me so clearly, with his pleasant smile and his hand outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down my back. Yes, yes, the dead come back, for I saw him! Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.

But she shook with rage, and got up one of those conjugal scenes which make a peaceable man dread the domestic hearth more than a battlefield where bullets are raining.

SHORT STORIES V12
[GM#13][gm12v10.txt]3088

Monsieur Saval, who was called in Mantes "Father Saval," had just risen from bed. He was weeping. It was a dull autumn day; the leaves were falling. They fell slowly in the rain, like a heavier and slower rain. M. Saval was not in good spirits. He walked from the fireplace to the window, and from the window to the fireplace. Life has its sombre days. It would no longer have any but sombre days for him, for he had reached the age of sixty-two. He is alone, an old bachelor, with nobody about him. How sad it is to die alone, all alone, without any one who is devoted to you!

He pondered over his life, so barren, so empty. He recalled former days, the days of his childhood, the home, the house of his parents; his college days, his follies; the time he studied law in Paris, his father's illness, his death. He then returned to live with his mother. They lived together very quietly, and desired nothing more. At last the mother died. How sad life is! He lived alone since then, and now, in his turn, he, too, will soon be dead. He will disappear, and that will be the end. There will be no more of Paul Saval upon the earth. What a frightful thing! Other people will love, will laugh. Yes, people will go on amusing themselves, and he will no longer exist! Is it not strange that people can laugh, amuse themselves, be joyful under that eternal certainty of death? If this death were only probable, one could then have hope; but no, it is inevitable, as inevitable as that night follows the day.

SHORT STORIES V13
[GM#14][gm13v10.txt]3089

How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, having lost those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation, from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just, after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages of happiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to this ceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy.

Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted, the hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of the conquered! Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can always open and pass through to the other side. Nature had an impulse of pity; she did not shut us up in prison. Mercy for the despairing!

If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of great minds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius.

Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while this sublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior but are slightly touched by madness.

COMPLETE SHORT STORIES, BY MAUPASSANT
[GM#15][gm00v10.txt]3090

Anguish of suspense made men even desire the arrival of enemies
As he had never enjoyed anything, he desired nothing
Calling all religious things "weeper's wares"
Chronic passion for cleaning
Dependent, like other emotions, on surroundings
Devouring faith which is the making of martyrs and visionaries
Did wrong in doing her duty
Do you know how I picture God?
Don't talk about things you know nothing about
Don't know what to say, for I am always terribly stupid at first
Everyone has his share
Freemasonry made up of those who possess
Full of that common sense which borders on stupidity
Great ones of this world who make war
Greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth
Hardly understand at all those bellicose ardors
Hotel bed: Who has occupied it the night before?
How much excited cowardice there often is in boldness
I am learning my trade
Impenetrable night, thicker than walls and empty
Insolent like all in authority
Irresistible force of mutual affection
Isn't for the fun of it, anyhow!
Key of a door
Kiss of the man without a mustache
Legitimized love always despises its easygoing brother
Let us be indignant, or let us be enthusiastic
Let them respect my convictions, and I will respect theirs
Like all women, being very fond of indigestible things
Love is always love, come whence it may
Love must unsettle the mind
Love has no law
Love that is sacred—not marriage!
Machine for bringing children into the world
Mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majority
Moments of friendly silence
Muscles of their faces have never learned the motions of laughter
"My God! my God!" without believing,