Why, in truth, sir," was Monte Cristo's reply, "man is but an ugly caterpillar for him who studies him through a solar microscope; but you said, I think, that I had nothing else to do. Now, really, let me ask, sir, have you? — do you believe you have anything to do? or to speak in plain terms, do you really think that what you do deserves being called anything?

Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes.

In all times, and all countries especially in those countries which are divided within by religious faith, there are always fanatics who will be well contented to be regarded as martyrs.

Porthos: He thinks he can challenge the mighty Porthos with a sword... D'Artagnan: The mighty who? Porthos: Don't tell me you've never heard of me. D'Artagnan: The world's biggest windbag? Porthos: Little pimple... meet me behind the Luxembourg at 1 o'clock and bring a long wooden box. D'Artagnan: Bring your own... Porthos: [laughs]

His fair landlady was in despair. She would most willingly have made M. d'Artagnan her husband--such a handsome man, and such a fierce mustache!

Perhaps what I am about to say will appear strange to you gentlemen, socialists, progressives, humanitarians as you are, but I never worry about my neighbor, I never try to protect society which does not protect me -- indeed, I might add, which generally takes no heed of me except to do me harm -- and, since I hold them low in my esteem and remain neutral towards them, I believe that society and my neighbor are in my debt.

Pure love and suspicion cannot dwell together: at the door where the latter enters, the former makes its exit.