QUOTES AND IMAGES FROM MAUPASSANT THE ORIGINAL SHORT STORIES GUY DE MAUPASSANT CONTENTS Volume I. Volume II. Volume III. Volume IV. Volume V. Volume VI. Volume VII. Volume VIII. Volume IX. Volume X. Volume XI. Volume XII. Volume XIII. Contents of the 13 Volumes (180 Stories) Volume I. A Study by Pol. Neveux Boule De SuifTwo FriendsThe Lancer's WifeThe PrisonersTwo Little SoldiersFather MilonA Coup D'etatLieutenant Lare's MarriageThe HorribleMadame ParisseMademoiselle FifiA Duel Volume II. The Colonel's IdeasMother SauvageEpiphanyThe MustacheMadame BaptisteThe Question of LatinA MeetingThe Blind ManIndiscretionA Family AffairBeside Schopenhauer's Corpse Volume III. Miss HarrietLittle Louise RoqueThe DonkeyMoironThe Dispenser of Holy WaterThe ParricideBerthaThe PatronThe DoorA SaleThe Impolite SexA Wedding GiftThe Relic Volume IV. The MoribundThe GamekeeperThe Story of a Farm GirlThe WreckTheodule Sabot's ConfessionThe Wrong HouseThe Diamond NecklaceThe Marquis De FumerolThe Trip of the HorlaFarewellThe WolfThe Inn Volume V. Monsieur ParentQueen HortenseTimbuctooTombstonesMademoiselle PearlThe ThiefClair De LuneWaiter, a "Bock"AfterForgivenessIn the SpringA Queer Night in Paris Volume VI. That Costly RideUseless BeautyThe FatherMy Uncle SosthenesThe BaronessMother and SonThe HandA Tress of HairOn the RiverThe CrippleA StrollAlexandreThe LogJulie RomaineThe Rondoli Sisters Volume VII. The False GemsFascinationYvette SamorisA VendettaMy Twenty-five Days"The Terror"Legend of Mont St. MichelA New Year's GiftFriend PatienceAbandonedThe Maison TellierDenisMy WifeThe UnknownThe Apparition Volume VIII. ClochetteThe KissThe Legion of HonorThe TestFound on a Drowned ManThe OrphanThe BeggarThe RabbitHis AvengerMy Uncle JulesThe ModelA VagabondThe Fishing HoleThe SpasmIn the WoodMartineAll overThe ParrotA Piece of String Volume IX. ToineMadame Husson's RosierThe Adopted SonA CowardOld MongiletMoonlightThe First SnowfallSundays of a BourgeoisA RecollectionOur LettersThe Love of Long AgoFriend JosephThe EffeminatesOld Amable Volume X. The ChristeningThe Farmer's WifeThe DevilThe SnipeThe WillWalter Schnaff's AdventureAt SeaMinuetThe SonThat Pig of a MorinSaint AnthonyLasting LovePierrotA Normandy JokeFather Matthew Volume XI. The UmbrellaBelhomme's BeastDiscoveryThe Accursed BreadThe DowryThe Diary of a Mad ManThe MaskThe Penguins RockA FamilySuicidesAn ArtificeDreamsSimon's Papa Volume XII. The ChildA Country ExcursionRoseRosalie PrudentRegretA Sister's ConfessionCocoA Dead Woman's SecretA Humble DramaMademoiselle CocotteThe Corsican BanditThe Grave Volume XIII. Old JudasThe Little CaskBoitelleA WidowThe Englishmen of EtretatMagnetismA Fathers ConfessionA Mother of MonstersAn Uncomfortable BedA PortraitThe DrunkardThe WardrobeThe Mountain PoolA CremationMistiMadame HermetThe Magic Couch QUOTATIONS: SHORT STORIES VOLUME I. Anguish of suspense made men even desire the arrival of enemiesDependent, like other emotions, on surroundingsDevouring faith which is the making of martyrs and visionariesFreemasonry made up of those who possessGreat ones of this world who make warI am learning my tradeInsolent like all in authorityLegitimized love always despises its easygoing brotherLike all women, being very fond of indigestible thingsPresence of a woman, that sovereign inspirationSpirit of order and arithmetic in the business houseSubtleties of expression to describe the most improper thingsThin veneer of modesty of every womanThrill of furious and bestial anger which urges on a mob to massacre SHORT STORIES VOLUME II. Chronic passion for cleaningGreatest shatterer of dreams who had ever dwelt on earthHardly understand at all those bellicose ardorsKey of a doorKiss of the man without a mustacheLet us be indignant, or let us be enthusiasticMuscles of their faces have never learned the motions of laughterResisted that feeling of comfort and reliefUnconscious brutality which is so common in the countryWhat is sadder than a dead house SHORT STORIES VOLUME III. Did wrong in doing her dutyDon't talk about things you know nothing aboutImpenetrable night, thicker than walls and emptyLove is always love, come whence it may"My God! my God!" without believing, nevertheless, in GodPines, close at hand, seemed to be weepingPreserved in a pickle of innocenceShe was an ornament, not a home SHORT STORIES VOLUME IV. The warm autumn sun was beating down on the farmyard. Under the grass, which had been cropped close by the cows, the earth soaked by recentrains, was soft and sank in under the feet with a soggy noise, and theapple trees, loaded with apples, were dropping their pale green fruit inthe dark green grass. The servant, Rose, remained alone in the large kitchen, where the firewas dying out on the hearth beneath the large boiler of hot water. Fromtime to time she dipped out some water and slowly washed her dishes, stopping occasionally to look at the two streaks of light which the sunthrew across the long table through the window, and which showed thedefects in the glass. The fowls were lying on the steaming dunghill; some of them werescratching with one claw in search of worms, while the cock stood upproudly in their midst. When he crowed, the cocks in all theneighboring farmyards replied to him, as if they were utteringchallenges from farm to farm. Neither could there be any scruples about an unequal match between them, for in the country every one is very nearly equal; the farmer works withhis laborers, who frequently become masters in their turn, and thefemale servants constantly become the mistresses of the establishmentswithout its making any change in their life or habits. Is it not rather the touch of Love, of Love the Mysterious, who seeksconstantly to unite two beings, who tries his strength the instant hehas put a man and a woman face to face? SHORT STORIES VOLUME V. Calling all religious things "weeper's wares"Everyone has his shareHow much excited cowardice there often is in boldnessLove has no lawPeople do not think as they speak, and do not speak as they actRage of a timid manShe saw that he would yield on every point SHORT STORIES VOLUME VI. As he had never enjoyed anything, he desired nothingDo you know how I picture God?Don't know what to say, for I am always terribly stupid at firstHotel bed: Who has occupied it the night before?Irresistible force of mutual affectionIsn't for the fun of it, anyhow!Love must unsettle the mindMachine for bringing children into the worldMoments of friendly silenceOne cannot both be and have beenOnly by going a long distance from homeSadness of existences that have had their dayWell-planned disorderWhen did you lie, the last time or now? SHORT STORIES VOLUME VII. A sceptical genius has said: "God made man in his image and man hasreturned the compliment. " This saying is an eternal truth, and it wouldbe very curious to write the history of the local divinity of everycontinent as well as the history of the patron saints in each one of ourprovinces. The negro has his ferocious man-eating idols; the polygamousMahometan fills his paradise with women; the Greeks, like a practicalpeople, deified all the passions. Pierre Letoile was silent. His companions were laughing. One of themsaid: "Marriage is indeed a lottery; you must never choose your numbers. The haphazard ones are the best. "--Another added by way of conclusion:"Yes, but do not forget that the god of drunkards chose for Pierre. " No noise in the little park, no breath of air in the leaves; no voicepasses through this silence. One ought to write at the entrance to thisdistrict: 'No one laughs here; they take care of their health. ' "Listen, Jacques. He has forbidden me to see you again, and I will notplay this comedy of coming secretly to your house. You must either loseme or take me. "--"My dear Irene, in that case, obtain your divorce, andI will marry you. "--"Yes, you will marry me in--two years at thesoonest. Yours is a patient love. " SHORT STORIES VOLUME VIII. "Do you know the people who live in the little red cottage at the end ofthe Rue du Berceau?"--Madame Bondel was out of sorts. She answered:"Yes and no; I am acquainted with them, but I do not care to know them. " It seems that he had led a bad life, that is to say, he had squandered alittle money, which action, in a poor family, is one of the greatestcrimes. With rich people a man who amuses himself only sows his wildoats. He is what is generally called a sport. But among needy familiesa boy who forces his parents to break into the capital becomes agood-for-nothing, a rascal, a scamp. And this distinction is just, although the action be the same, for consequences alone determine theseriousness of the act. "Why; you are just the same as the others, you fool!" That was indeedbravado, one of those pieces of impudence of which a woman makes usewhen she dares everything, risks everything, to wound and humiliate theman who has aroused her ire. This poor man must also be one of thosedeceived husbands, like so many others. He had said sadly: "There aretimes when she seems to have more confidence and faith in our friendsthan in me. " That is how a husband formulated his observations on theparticular attentions of his wife for another man. That was all. Hehad seen nothing more. He was like the rest--all the rest! He awaited he knew not what, possessed with that vague hope whichpersists in the human heart in spite of everything. He awaited in thecorner of the farmyard in the biting December wind, some mysterious aidfrom Heaven or from men, without the least idea whence it was to arrive. A number of black hens ran hither and thither, seeking their food in theearth which supports all living things. Ever now and then they snappedup in their beaks a grain of corn or a tiny insect; then they continuedtheir slow, sure search for nutriment. SHORT STORIES VOLUME IX. Full of that common sense which borders on stupidityLet them respect my convictions, and I will respect theirsLove that is sacred--not marriage!Mediocrities and the fools always form the immense majorityNight-robe of streams and meadowsOnly being allowed to read religious works or cook-booksPoetry did not seem to be the strong pointPurgatory and paradise according to the yearly incomeShe went through life in a mood of perpetual discontentSo stupid and they pretend they know everythingSpend his time quietly regretting the pastThe tomb is the boundary of conjugal sinningWhen we love, we have need of confessionWorld has made laws to combat our instincts SHORT STORIES VOLUME X. "I heard 'birr! birr!' and a magnificent covey rose at ten paces fromme. I aimed. Pif! paf! and I saw a shower, a veritable shower ofbirds. There were seven of them!"--And they all went into raptures, amazed, but reciprocally credulous. She was still smiling as she looked at him; she even began to laugh; andhe lost his head trying to find something suitable to say, no matterwhat. But he could think of nothing, nothing, and then, seized with acoward's courage, he said to himself: 'So much the worse, I will riskeverything, ' and suddenly, without the slightest warning, he went towardher, his arms extended, his lips protruding, and, seizing her in hisarms, he kissed her. My elder sons never loved me, never petted me, scarcely treated me as amother, but during my whole life I did my duty towards them, and I owethem nothing more after my death. The ties of blood cannot existwithout daily and constant affection. An ungrateful son is less than, astranger; he is a culprit, for he has no right to be indifferent towardshis mother. SHORT STORIES VOLUME XI. I held my tongue, and thought over those words. Oh, ethics! Oh, logic!Oh, wisdom! At his age! So they deprived him of his only remainingpleasure out of regard for his health! His health! What would he dowith it, inert and trembling wreck that he was? They were taking careof his life, so they said. His life? How many days? Ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred? Why? For his own sake? Or to preserve for sometime longer the spectacle of his impotent greediness in the family. But all at once one envelope made me start. My name was traced on it ina large, bold handwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes. Thatletter was from my dearest friend, the companion of my youth, theconfidant of my hopes; and he appeared before me so clearly, with hispleasant smile and his hand outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down myback. Yes, yes, the dead come back, for I saw him! Our memory is amore perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who nolonger exist. But she shook with rage, and got up one of those conjugal scenes whichmake a peaceable man dread the domestic hearth more than a battlefieldwhere bullets are raining. SHORT STORIES VOLUME XII. Monsieur Saval, who was called in Mantes "Father Saval, " had just risenfrom bed. He was weeping. It was a dull autumn day; the leaves werefalling. They fell slowly in the rain, like a heavier and slower rain. M. Saval was not in good spirits. He walked from the fireplace to thewindow, and from the window to the fireplace. Life has its sombre days. It would no longer have any but sombre days for him, for he had reachedthe age of sixty-two. He is alone, an old bachelor, with nobody abouthim. How sad it is to die alone, all alone, without any one who isdevoted to you! He pondered over his life, so barren, so empty. He recalled formerdays, the days of his childhood, the home, the house of his parents; hiscollege days, his follies; the time he studied law in Paris, hisfather's illness, his death. He then returned to live with his mother. They lived together very quietly, and desired nothing more. At last themother died. How sad life is! He lived alone since then, and now, inhis turn, he, too, will soon be dead. He will disappear, and that willbe the end. There will be no more of Paul Saval upon the earth. What afrightful thing! Other people will love, will laugh. Yes, people willgo on amusing themselves, and he will no longer exist! Is it notstrange that people can laugh, amuse themselves, be joyful under thateternal certainty of death? If this death were only probable, one couldthen have hope; but no, it is inevitable, as inevitable as that nightfollows the day. SHORT STORIES VOLUME XIII. How I understood them, these who weak, harassed by misfortune, havinglost those they loved, awakened from the dream of a tardy compensation, from the illusion of another existence where God will finally be just, after having been ferocious, and their minds disabused of the mirages ofhappiness, have given up the fight and desire to put an end to thisceaseless tragedy, or this shameful comedy. Suicide! Why, it is the strength of those whose strength is exhausted, the hope of those who no longer believe, the sublime courage of theconquered! Yes, there is at least one door to this life we can alwaysopen and pass through to the other side. Nature had an impulse of pity;she did not shut us up in prison. Mercy for the despairing! If genius is, as is commonly believed, a sort of aberration of greatminds, then Algernon Charles Swinburne is undoubtedly a genius. Great minds that are healthy are never considered geniuses, while thissublime qualification is lavished on brains that are often inferior butare slightly touched by madness. If you wish to read the entire context of any of these quotations, select a short segment and copy it into your clipboard memory--then openthe following eBook and paste the phrase into your computer's find orsearch operation. Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant, Completehttp://www. Gutenberg. Net/dirs/etext02/gm00v11. Txt