Book 3 — ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
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An hour of rest between two ordeals, a smile between two sobs Anonymous, that velvet mask of scandal-mongers At every step the reality splashes you with mud Bullets are not necessarily on the side of the right Does one ever forget? History is written, not made. "I might forgive," said Andras; "but I could not forget If well-informed people are to be believe Insanity is, perhaps, simply the ideal realized It is so good to know nothing, nothing, nothing Let the dead past bury its dead! Man who expects nothing of life except its ending Not only his last love, but his only love Pessimism of to-day sneering at his confidence of yesterday Sufferer becomes, as it were, enamored of his own agony Taken the times as they are Unable to speak, for each word would have been a sob What matters it how much we suffer Why should I read the newspapers? Willingly seek a new sorrow