"... the progress of the language has caused us to lose many old treasures. It is thus with all progress, and one must make the best of it."
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"... the progress of the language has caused us to lose many old treasures. It is thus with all progress, and one must make the best of it."
"The publication of a book only brings very paltry results to its author."
"almost all novels are love stories."
"a woman, when she is heroic, is not heroic by halves."
"Time is always wanting to me, and I cannot meet with a single day when I am nut hurried along, driven to by wits'-end by urgent work, business to attent do or some service to render."
"Ever since time began the world has seemed stupid to those who aren't stupid themselves. It was to avoid that annoyance that I became stupid myself, as fast as ever I could. Sheer egoism, no doubt."
"There is but on virtue--the eternal sacrifice of self."
"Death must no longer be either the penalty for prosperity or the consolation of misery. God did not destine it to be either the punishment or the compensation for life."
"You see what stupid folk my publishers are; but they are all alike."
"[Failure is hard initially because] One knows what one has lost, but not what one may find [and learn from that failure]!"
"It is quite wrong to think of old age as a downward slope. On the contrary, one climbs higher and higher with the ad-vancing years, and that, too with sur-prising strides. Brain-work comes as easily to the old as physical exertion to the child. One is moving, it is true, towards the end of life, but that end is now a goal, and not a reef in which the vessel may be dashed."
"Simplicity, a delicate silence about oneself, increases their worth and makes one love those whom one admires."
"One never knows how much a family may grow; and when a hive is too full, and it is necessary to form a new swarm, each one thinks of carrying away his own honey."
"No religion can be built on force."
"We do not precisely enjoy liberty at the Figaro. M. de Latouche, our worthy director (ah! you should know the fellow), is always hanging over us, cutting, pruning, right or wrong, imposing upon us his whims, his aberrations, his fancies, and we have to write as he bids."
"honesty dies in selling itself."