Part 1

This eBook was produced by David Widger

PRINCE ZILAH

By Jules Claretie

A man's life belongs to his duty, and not to his happiness

All defeats have their geneses

An hour of rest between two ordeals, a smile between two sobs

Anonymous, that velvet mask of scandal- mongers

At every step the reality splashes you with mud

Bullets are not necessarily on the side of the right

Does one ever forget?

Foreigners are more Parisian than the Parisians themselves

History is written, not made.

"I might forgive," said Andras; "but I could not forget"

If well-informed people are to be believe

Insanity is, perhaps, simply the ideal realized

It is so good to know nothing, nothing, nothing

Let the dead past bury its dead!

Life is a tempest

Man who expects nothing of life except its ending

Nervous natures, as prompt to hope as to despair

No answer to make to one who has no right to question me

Not only his last love, but his only love

Nothing ever astonishes me

One of those beings who die, as they have lived, children

Pessimism of to-day sneering at his confidence of yesterday

Playing checkers, that mimic warfare of old men

Poverty brings wrinkles

Sufferer becomes, as it were, enamored of his own agony

Superstition which forbids one to proclaim his happiness

Taken the times as they are

The Hungarian was created on horseback

There were too many discussions, and not enough action

Unable to speak, for each word would have been a sob

What matters it how much we suffer

Why should I read the newspapers?

Willingly seek a new sorrow

Would not be astonished at anything

You suffer? Is fate so just as that

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