ery terrible to be thus ashamed of oneself, to have that
longing for kisses which console the most wretched in their misery,
which satisfy hunger and thirst, and assuage pain; that illusion of
delicious, intoxicating kisses, the delight and the balm of which such a
person can never know; the horror of that dishonor of being pointed at,
made fun of, driven away like unclean creatures that prostitute their
sex, and make love vile by unmentionable rites; oh! the constant
bitterness of seeing that the person we love makes fun of us, ill-uses
us, and does not show us even the slightest friendship!"

"Poor devil!" Jean d'Orthyse said, in a sad and moved voice. "In his
place, I should have blown my brains out."

"Everybody says that, my dear fellow, but how few there are who venture
to forestall that intruder, who always come too quickly."

"Lantosque had splendid health, and declared that he had never put a
penny into a doctor's pocket, and if he had allowed himself to have been
looked after when he was confined to his bed two months before, by an
attack of influenza, we should still be hearing him propose a game of
poker before dinner, in his shrill voice. His death, however, was as
tragic and mysterious as all those tales from beyond the grave are, on
which the Invisible rests."

"Although he had a cough, which threatened to tear his chest to pieces,
and although he was haunted by the fear of death, of that great depth of
darkness in which we lose ourselves in the abyss of Annihilation and
Oblivion, he obstinately refused to have his chest sounded, and repulsed
Doctor Pertuzes almost furiously, who thought he had gone out of his
mind."

"He cowered down, and covered himself with the bed-clothes up to his
chin, and found strength enough to tear up the prescriptions, and to
drive everyone, whether friend or relation, who tried to make him listen
to reason, and who could not understand his attacks of rage and neurosis
from his bedside. He seemed to be possessed by some demon, like those
women in hysterical convulsions, whom the bishops used formerly to
exorcise writh much pomp. It was painful to see him."

"That went on for a week, during which time the pneumonia had ample
opportunities for ravaging and giving the finishing stroke to his body,
which had been so robust and free from ailments hitherto, and he died,
trying to utter some last words which nobody understood, and endeavoring
to point out one particular article