Book 4 — ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Reading edition
A bird that won't roast or boil or stew Acting is not of the high class which conceals the art Ah! we fall into their fictions Bad luck's not repeated every day Keep heart for the good Began the game of Pull By nature incapable of asking pardon Consciousness of some guilt when vowing itself innocent Having contracted the fatal habit of irony He had to shake up wrath over his grievances Her vehement fighting against facts His aim to win the woman acknowledged no obstacle in the means His restored sense of possession How to compromise the matter for the sake of peace? I could be in love with her cruelty, if only I had her near me Men who believe that there is a virtue in imprecations Not men of brains, but the men of aptitudes Not the indignant and the frozen, but the genially indifferent One is a fish to her hook; another a moth to her light One night, and her character's gone Passion added to a bowl of reason makes a sophist's mess Policy seems to petrify their minds Rage of a conceited schemer tricked Respect one another's affectations To time and a wife it is no disgrace for a man to bend Uncommon unprogressiveness When duelling flourished on our land, frail women powerful Where heart weds mind, or nature joins intellect With what little wisdom the world is governed
[The End]