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     Accustomed to hide what I think
     Amusements they offered were either wearisome or repugnant
     Consoled himself with one of the pious commonplaces
     Dreaded the monotonous regularity of conjugal life
     Fawning duplicity
     Had not been spoiled by Fortune’s gifts
     How small a space man occupies on the earth
     Hypocritical grievances
     I am not in the habit of consulting the law
     I measure others by myself
     It does not mend matters to give way like that
     Like all timid persons, he took refuge in a moody silence
     More disposed to discover evil than good
     Nature’s cold indifference to our sufferings
     Never is perfect happiness our lot
     Opposing his orders with steady, irritating inertia
     Others found delight in the most ordinary amusements
     Plead the lie to get at the truth
     Sensitiveness and disposition to self-blame
     The ease with which he is forgotten
     There are some men who never have had any childhood
     Those who have outlived their illusions
     Timidity of a night-bird that is made to fly in the day
     To make a will is to put one foot into the grave
     Toast and white wine (for breakfast)
     Vague hope came over him that all would come right
     Vexed, act in direct contradiction to their own wishes
     Women:  they are more bitter than death
     Yield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh their amusements
     You have considerable patience for a lover
     You must be pleased with yourself—­that is more essential