Old Judas The Little Cask Boitelle A Widow The Englishmen of Etretat Magnetism A Fathers Confession A Mother of Monsters An Uncomfortable Bed A Portrait The Drunkard The Wardrobe The Mountain Pool A Cremation Misti Madame Hermet The Magic Couch QUOTATIONS: SHORT STORIES VOLUME I. Anguish of suspense made men even desire the arrival of enemies Dependent, like other emotions, on surroundings Devouring faith which is the making of martyrs and visionaries Freemasonry made up of those who possess Great ones of this world who make war I am learning my trade Insolent like all in authority Legitimized love always despises its easygoing brother Like all women, being very fond of indigestible things Presence of a woman, that sovereign inspiration Spirit of order and arithmetic in the business house Subtleties of expression to describe the most improper things Thin veneer of modesty of every woman Thrill of furious and bestial anger which urges on a mob to massacre SHORT STORIES VOLUME II. Chronic passion for cleaning Greatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earth Hardly understand at all those bellicose ardors Key of a door Kiss of the man without a mustache Let us be indignant, or let us be enthusiastic Muscles of their faces have never learned the motions of laughter Resisted that feeling of comfort and relief Unconscious brutality which is so common in the country What is sadder than a dead house SHORT STORIES VOLUME III. Did wrong in doing her duty Don't talk about things you know nothing about Impenetrable night, thicker than walls and empty Love is always love, come whence it may "My God! my God!" without believing, nevertheless, in God Pines, close at hand, seemed to be weeping Preserved in a pickle of innocence She was an ornament, not a home SHORT STORIES VOLUME IV. The warm autumn sun was beating down on the farmyard. Under the grass, which had been cropped close by the cows, the earth soaked by recent rains, was soft and sank in under the feet with a soggy noise, and the apple trees, loaded with apples, were dropping their pale green fruit in the dark green grass. The servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the fire was dying out on the hearth beneath the large boiler of hot water. From time to time she dipped out some water and slowly washed her dishes, stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of light which the sun threw across the long table through the window, and which showed the defects in the glass. The fowls were lying on the steaming dunghill; some of them were scratching with one claw in search of worms, while the cock stood up proudly in their midst. When he crowed, the cocks in all the neighboring farmyards replied to him, as if they were uttering challenges from farm to farm.