Why do you mention my father?' screamed he; 'Why do you mingle a recollection of him with the affairs of today?' Because I am he who saved your father's life when he wished to destroy himself, as you do today-because I am the man who sent the purse to your young sister, and the Paraon to Old Morrel-because I am the Edmond Dantes who nursed you, a child, on my knees.

I have always had more dread of a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper than of a sword or pistol.

Order is the key to all problems.

So heavy is the chain of wedlock that it needs two to carry it, and sometimes three.

I do not cling to life sufficiently to fear death.

Does the open wound in another's breast soften the pain of the gaping wound in our own? Or does the blood which is welling from another man's side staunch that which is pouring from our own? Does the general anguish of our fellow creatures lessen our own private and particular anguish? No, no, each suffers on his own account, each struggles with his own grief, each sheds his own tears.

I know what happiness and what despair are, and I never make a jest of such feelings. Take it, then, but in exchange —