A WOODLAND QUEEN
By Andre Theuriet
 | Accustomed to hide what I thinkAmusements they offered were eitherwearisome or repugnantConsoled himself with one of the piouscommonplacesDreaded the monotonous regularity ofconjugal lifeFawning duplicityHad not been spoiled by Fortune's giftsHow small a space man occupies on theearthHypocritical grievancesI am not in the habit of consulting thelawI measure others by myselfIt does not mend matters to give waylike thatLike all timid persons, he took refugein a moody silenceMore disposed to discover evil thangoodNature's cold indifference to oursufferingsNever is perfect happiness our lotOpposing his orders with steady,irritating inertiaOthers found delight in the mostordinary amusementsPlead the lie to get at the truthSensitiveness and disposition to self-blameThe ease with which he is forgottenThere are some men who never have hadany childhoodThose who have outlived their illusionsTimidity of a night-bird that is madeto fly in the dayTo make a will is to put one foot intothe graveToast and white wine (for breakfast)Vague hope came over him that all wouldcome rightVexed, act in direct contradiction totheir own wishesWomen: they are more bitter than deathYield to their customs, and not pooh-pooh their amusementsYou have considerable patience for aloverYou must be pleased with yourself--thatis more essential |
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