All that was illogical in our social code Ambiguity has no place, nor has compromise But if this is our supreme farewell, do not tell me so! Chain so light yesterday, so heavy to-day Every man is his own master in his choice of liaisons If I do not give all I give nothing Indulgence of which they stand in need themselves Life goes on, and that is less gay than the stories Men admired her; the women sought some point to criticise Only a man, wavering and changeable Ostensibly you sit at the feast without paying the cost Paris has become like a little country town in its gossip The night brings counsel Their Christian charity did not extend so far as that There are mountains that we never climb but once You are in a conquered country, which is still more dangerous A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET, V1 [IM#22][im22b10.txt]3935 Amusements they offered were either wearisome or repugnant Dreaded the monotonous regularity of conjugal life Fawning duplicity Had not been spoiled by Fortune's gifts Hypocritical grievances I am not in the habit of consulting the law It does not mend matters to give way like that Opposing his orders with steady, irritating inertia There are some men who never have had any childhood To make a will is to put one foot into the grave Toast and white wine (for breakfast) Vague hope came over him that all would come right A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET, V2 [IM#23][im23b10.txt]3936 I measure others by myself Like all timid persons, he took refuge in a moody silence Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements Sensitiveness and disposition to self-blame Women: they are more bitter than death Yield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh their amusements You must be pleased with yourself--that is more essential A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET, V3 [IM#24][im24b10.txt]3937 Accustomed to hide what I think Consoled himself with one of the pious commonplaces How small a space man occupies on the earth More disposed to discover evil than good Nature's cold indifference to our sufferings Never is perfect happiness our lot Plead the lie to get at the truth The ease with which he is forgotten Those who have outlived their illusions Timidity of a night-bird that is made to fly in the day Vexed, act in direct contradiction to their own wishes You have considerable patience for a lover ENTIRE A WOODLAND QUEEN, BY ANDRE THEURIET [IM#25][im25b10.txt]3938