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THE INK STAIN

By Rene Bazin



All that a name is to a street--its
honor, its spouse

Came not in single spies, but in
battalions

Distrust first impulse

Felix culpa

Happy men don't need company

Hard that one can not live one's life
over twice

He always loved to pass for being
overwhelmed with work

I don't call that fishing

If trouble awaits us, hope will  steal
us a happy hour or two

Lends--I should say gives

Men forget sooner

Natural only when alone, and talk well
only to themselves

Obstacles are the salt of all our joys

One doesn't offer apologies to a man in
his wrath

People meeting to "have it out" usually
say nothing at first

Silence, alas! is not the reproof of
kings alone

Skilful actor, who apes all the
emotions while feeling none

Sorrows shrink into insignificance as
the horizon broadens

Surprise goes for so much in what we
admire

The very smell of books is improving

The looks of the young are always full
of the future

There are some blunders that are lucky;
but you can't tell

To be your own guide doubles your
pleasure

You a law student, while our farmers
are in want of hands

You must always first get the tobacco
to burn evenly

You ask Life for certainties, as if she
had any to give you