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Updated: June 8, 2025
That meant I've never confessed it to any one before I've been too proud but I want you to understand it meant my defeat my final defeat. I hadn't the courage to begin again. C'était le désastre. C'était Sedan." "Oh, madame!" It seemed to him that her mouth worked with an odd piteousness; and before going on she put up a crooked little jeweled hand and dashed away a tear.
Courage sits best on a full stomach, and as they ate they cared not whether the Atlantic had opened between them and Vincennes. An hour agone, and there were twenty cursing laggards, counting the leagues back to Kaskaskia. Now: "C'etait un vieux sauvage Tout noir, tour barbouilla, Ouich' ka! Avec sa vieill' couverte Et son sac a tabac. Ouich' ka!
When "Bobus" Smith told Talleyrand that his mother had been a beautiful woman, and Talleyrand replied, "C'etait donc Monsieur votre pere qui n'etait pas bien," we hold the witticism to have been cruel because unjustifiable. A man should be privileged to say his mother was beautiful, without inviting such a very obvious sarcasm.
Subsequently, it was given out that General Kirby Smith had a wonderful plan for the destruction of the enemy, which I had disturbed by rashly beating his army at Mansfield and Pleasant Hill; but this plan, like Trochu's for the defense of Paris, was never disclosed undoubtedly, because c'était le secret de Polichinelle.
Les jours de fete, bien souvent, La foule s'ecrie en buvant Devant: Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'etait la! La, la. There was a king of Yvetot, Of whom renown hath little said, Who let all thoughts of glory go, And dawdled half his days a-bed; And every night, as night came round, By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned, Slept very sound: Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he!
For the time he felt with their feelings, saw with their eyes, became possessed by them, as the great actor becomes possessed by the personality he represents. "C'etait un voyant, non un observateur," as Philarete Chasles said with truth.
"What else do you suppose?" she retorted. "Are you going only to sit here, and grow sour, and let me look at you?" "Madame," said De Griers confidentially, "les chances peuvent tourner. Une seule mauvaise chance, et vous perdrez tout surtout avec votre jeu. C'etait terrible!" "Oui; vous perdrez absolument," put in Mlle. Blanche. "What has that got to do with YOU?" retorted the old lady.
An interesting personality, 'je le regrette beaucoup'. But, as you see, he died in great distress, without a soul to wave him farewell, because as you can well understand, monsieur, I don't count myself. He died drunk. 'C'etait un homme'!" Shelton had continued staring kindly at the little man; the barber added hastily: "It's difficult to make an end like that one has moments of weakness."
The poor of Paris itself were not so very ill-off, for there were continual distributions of money and flour to keep them in good humour, and there were songs about. 'Le bon tems que c'etait A Paris Durant la famine, Tout le monde s'entrebaisait A Paris Durant la famine, La plus belle se contentait D'un simple boisseau de farine.
There are not many fishermen who can say that. But," he added, with confidential emphasis, "c'etait votre sacre p'tit poisson qui a fait cela." That was a touch of human nature, my rusty old guardian, more welcome to me than all the morning's catch. Is there not always a "confounded little minnow" responsible for our failures?
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