AN "ATTIC" PHILOSOPHER BY E. SOUVESTRE, V3 [IM#85][im85b10.txt]3998 Ambroise Pare: 'I tend him, God cures him!' Are we then bound to others only by the enforcement of laws Attach a sense of remorse to each of my pleasures But above these ruins rises a calm and happy face Contemptuous pride of knowledge Death, that faithful friend of the wretched Houses are vessels which take mere passengers I make it a rule never to have any hope Ignorant of what there is to wish for Looks on an accomplished duty neither as a merit nor a grievance More stir than work Nothing is dishonorable which is useful Richer than France herself, for I have no deficit in my budget Satisfy our wants, if we know how to set bounds to them Sensible man, who has observed much and speaks little Sullen tempers are excited by the patience of their victims The happiness of the wise man costs but little We do not understand that others may live on their own account What have you done with the days God granted you You may know the game by the lair ENTIRE AN "ATTIC" PHILOSOPHER BY SOUVESTRE [IM#86][im86b10.txt]3999 Always to mistake feeling for evidence Ambroise Pare: 'I tend him, God cures him!' Are we then bound to others only by the enforcement of laws Attach a sense of remorse to each of my pleasures Brought them up to poverty But above these ruins rises a calm and happy face Carn-ival means, literally, "farewell to flesh!" Coffee is the grand work of a bachelor's housekeeping Contemptuous pride of knowledge Death, that faithful friend of the wretched Defeat and victory only displace each other by turns Did not think the world was so great Do they understand what makes them so gay? Each of us regards himself as the mirror of the community Ease with which the poor forget their wretchedness Every one keeps his holidays in his own way Fame and power are gifts that are dearly bought Favorite and conclusive answer of his class--"I know" Fear of losing a moment from business Finishes his sin thoroughly before he begins to repent Fortune sells what we believe she gives Her kindness, which never sleeps Houses are vessels which take mere passengers Hubbub of questions which waited for no reply I make it a rule never to have any hope Ignorant of what there is to wish for Looks on an accomplished duty neither as a merit nor a grievance Make himself a name: he becomes public property Moderation is the great social virtue More stir than work My patronage has become her property No one is so unhappy as to have nothing to give Not desirous to teach goodness Nothing is dishonorable which is useful Our tempers are like an opera-glass Poverty, you see, is a famous schoolmistress Power of necessity Prisoners of work Progress can never be forced on without danger Question is not to discover what will suit us Richer than France herself, for I have no deficit in my budget Ruining myself, but we must all have our Carnival Satisfy our wants, if we know how to set bounds to them