SERGE PANINE



By George Ohnet





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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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These quotations were collected from the works of the author by David Widger while he was preparing etexts for Project Gutenberg. Comments and suggestions will be most welcome.

--And many thanks for your persistence in reading all the way to the end of this page.        D.W.





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