The Count of Monte Cristo

by Alexandre Dumas

For the happy man prayer is only a jumble of words, until the day when sorrow comes to explain to him the sublime language by means of which he speaks to God.

“Who speaks of God and despair in the same breath?”

All I can do now is to wish you a life so calm, happy and full that there will be no place in your memory for me.

She looked up and saw him without surprise; there are no intermediate emotions in a heart swollen by the supreme despair.

Truly generous men are always ready to

become sympathetic when their enemy’s misfortune surpasses the limits of their hatred.

What I’ve loved most after you, Mercédès, is myself; that is, my dignity and that strength which made me superior to other men. That strength was my life; you’ve broken it with a word, so I must die.

“How stupid I was,” he said to himself, “not to have torn my heart out the day I swore to avenge myself!”