Madame Bovary

I have noth­ing in the world! you are all to me; so shall I be to you. I will be your people, your coun­try; I will tend, I will love you!”

eem so, be­cause in the midst of the world I know how to wear the mask of a scoffer upon my face; and yet, how many a time at the sight of a cemetery by moon­light have I not asked my­self whether it were not bet­ter to join those sleep­ing there!”
“Oh! and your friends?” she said. “You do not think of them.”
“My friends! What friends? Have I any? Who cares for me?” And he ac­com­pan­ied the last words with a kind of whist­ling of the lips.

Her ill­ness, it ap­pears, was a kind of fog that she had in her head, and the doc­tors could not do any­thing, nor the priest either. When she was taken too bad she went off quite alone to the sea­shore, so that the cus­toms of­ficer, go­ing his rounds, of­ten found her ly­ing flat on her face, cry­ing on the shingle. Then, after her mar­riage, it went off, they say.”
“But with me,” replied Emma, “it was after mar­riage that it began.

Then the lusts of the flesh, the long­ing for money, and the mel­an­choly of pas­sion all blen­ded them­selves into one suf­fer­ing, and in­stead of turn­ing her thoughts from it, she clave to it the more, ur­ging her­self to pain, and seek­ing every­where oc­ca­sion for it

Quin­cam­poix

Mon­sieur Ro­ger

In their un­con­cerned looks was the calm of pas­sions daily sa­ti­ated, and through all their gen­tle­ness of man­ner pierced that pe­cu­liar bru­tal­ity, the res­ult of a com­mand of half-easy things, in which force is ex­er­cised and van­ity amused—the man­age­ment of thor­ough­bred horses and the so­ci­ety of loose wo­men.

But this one taught noth­ing, knew noth­ing, wished noth­ing.

seemed to her that cer­tain places on earth must bring hap­pi­ness, as a plant pe­cu­liar to the soil, and that can­not thrive else­where.

then, like a great bird with rose-col­oured wings, hung in the splend­our of the skies of poesy; and now she could not think that the calm in which she lived was the hap­pi­ness she had dreamed.

This nature, pos­it­ive in the midst of its en­thu­si­asms, that had loved the church for the sake of the flowers, and mu­sic for the words of the songs, and lit­er­at­ure for its pas­sional stim­u­lus, re­belled against the mys­ter­ies of faith as it grew ir­rit­ated by dis­cip­line, a thing an­ti­pathetic to her con­sti­tu­tion.

look­ing for emo­tions, not land­scapes.

She puzzled her head to find some vow to ful­fil.

So there was a wed­ding at which forty-three per­sons were present, at which they re­mained six­teen hours at table, began again the next day, and to some ex­tent on the days fol­low­ing.

there was a wed­ding at which forty-three per­sons were present, at which they re­mained six­teen hours at table, began again the next day, and to some ex­tent on the days fol­low­ing.

But he never saw her in his thoughts other than he had seen her the first time, or as he had just left her.

The head­mas­ter made a sign to us to sit down. Then

new fel­low

sat­is­fact­ory

head­mas­ter