Part 1

This eBook was produced by David Widger

SERGE PANINE

By George Ohnet

A man weeps with difficulty before a woman

A uniform is the only garb which can hide poverty honorably

Antagonism to plutocracy and hatred of aristocrats

Because they moved, they thought they were progressing

Cowardly in trouble as he had been insolent in prosperity

Enough to be nobody's unless I belong to him

Even those who do not love her desire to know her

Everywhere was feverish excitement, dissipation, and nullity

Flayed and roasted alive by the critics

Forget a dream and accept a reality

Hard workers are pitiful lovers

He lost his time, his money, his hair, his illusions

He was very unhappy at being misunderstood

Heed that you lose not in dignity what you gain in revenge

I thought the best means of being loved were to deserve it

I don't pay myself with words

Implacable self-interest which is the law of the world

In life it is only nonsense that is common-sense

Is a man ever poor when he has two arms?

Is it by law only that you wish to keep me?

It was a relief when they rose from the table

Men of pleasure remain all their lives mediocre workers

Money troubles are not mortal

My aunt is jealous of me because I am a man of ideas

Negroes, all but monkeys!

Nothing that provokes laughter more than a disappointed lover

One amuses one's self at the risk of dying

Patience, should he encounter a dull page here or there

Romanticism still ferments beneath the varnish of Naturalism

Sacrifice his artistic leanings to popular caprice

Scarcely was one scheme launched when another idea occurred

She would have liked the world to be in mourning

Suffering is a human law; the world is an arena

Talk with me sometimes. You will not chatter trivialities

The guilty will not feel your blows, but the innocent

The uncontested power which money brings

They had only one aim, one passion--to enjoy themselves

Unqualified for happiness

We had taken the dream of a day for eternal happiness

What is a man who remains useless

Without a care or a cross, he grew weary like a prisoner

You are talking too much about it to be sincere

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