never sleeps
     Hermits can not refrain from inquiring what men say of them
     His habit of pleasing had prolonged his youth
     His sleeplessness was not the insomnia of genius
     History too was a work of art
     History is written, not made. 
     Houses are vessels which take mere passengers
     (Housemaid) is trained to respect my disorder
     How sad these old memorics are in the autumn
     How many things have not people been proud of
     How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more
     How small a space man occupies on the earth
     How rich we find ourselves when we rummage in old drawers
     Hubbub of questions which waited for no reply
     Human weakness seeks association
     Husband who loves you and eats off the same plate is better
     Hypocritical grievances
     I do not intend either to boast or abase myself
     I came here for that express purpose
     I do not accept the hypothesis of a world made for us
     I don’t call that fishing
     I measure others by myself
     I am not wandering through life, I am marching on
     I would give two summers for a single autumn
     I believed in the virtue of work, and look at me! 
     I neither love nor esteem sadness
     “I might forgive,” said Andras; “but I could not forget”
     I believed it all; one is so happy to believe! 
     I am not in the habit of consulting the law
     I have burned all the bridges behind me
     I know not what lost home that I have failed to find
     I can forget you only when I am with you
     I do not desire your friendship
     I can not love her, I can not love another
     I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment
     I have known things which I know no more
     I haven’t a taste, I have tastes
     I no longer love you
     I boasted of being worse than I really was
     I thought the best means of being loved were to deserve it
     I don’t pay myself with words
     I have to pay for the happiness you give me
     I feel in them (churches) the grandeur of nothingness
     I love myself because you love me
     I gave myself to him because he loved me
     I wished to spoil our past
     I make it a rule never to have any hope
     Ideas they think superior to love—­faith, habits, interests
     If there is one! (a paradise)
     If I do not give all I give nothing
     If well-informed people are to be believe
     If trouble awaits us, hope will steal us a happy hour or two
     Ignorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laity
     Ignorant of what there is to wish for
     Ignorant of everything, undesirous of learning anything
     Imagine what it would be never to have been born
     Immobility of time
     Impatient at praise which was not destined for himself