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Monster beats It sometimes happened that officious busybodies spoke to him of Marius, and asked him:
　　"What is your grandson doing?" "What has become of him?"
　　The old bourgeois replied with a sigh, that he was a sad case, and giving a fillip to his cuff, if he wished to appear gay:
　　"Monsieur le Baron de Pontmercy is practising pettifogging in some corner or other."
　　While the old man regretted, Marius applauded himself. As is the case with all good-hearted people, misfortune had eradicated his bitterness.


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　　monster beats headphones He only thought of M. Gillenormand in an amiable light, but he had set his mind on not receiving anything more from the man who had been unkind to his father. This was the mitigated translation of his first indignation. Moreover, he was happy at having suffered, and at suffering still. It was for his father's sake.
　　The hardness of his life satisfied and pleased him.
　　He said to himself with a sort of joy that-- it was certainly the least he could do; that it was an expiation;-- that, had it not been for that, he would have been punished in some other way and later on for his impious indifference towards his father, and such a father! that it would not have been just that his father should have all the suffering, and he none of it; and that, in any case, what were his toils and his destitution compared with the colonel's heroic life? that, in short, the only way for him to approach his father and resemble him, was to be brave in the face of indigence, as the other had been valiant before the enemy; and that that was, no doubt, what the colonel had meant to imply by the words: "He will be worthy of it."
　　Words which Marius continued to wear, not on his breast, since the colonel's writing had disappeared, but in his heart.
　　And then, on the day when his grandfather had turned him out of doors, he had been only a child, now he was a man.
　　He felt it.
　　Misery, we repeat, had been good for him.
　　Poverty in youth, when it succeeds, has this magnificent property about it, that it turns the whole will towards effort, and the whole soul towards aspiration. Poverty instantly lays material life bare and renders it hideous; hence inexpressible bounds towards the ideal life.
　　The wealthy young man has a hundred coarse and brilliant distractions, horse races, hunting, dogs, tobacco, gaming, good repasts, and all the rest of it; occupations for the baser side of the soul, at the expense of the loftier and more delicate sides.
　　The poor young man wins his bread with difficulty; he eats; when he has eaten, he has nothing more but meditation.
　　He goes to the spectacles which God furnishes gratis; he gazes at the sky, space, the stars, flowers, children, the humanity among which he is suffering, the creation amid which he beams. He gazes so much on humanity that he perceives its soul, he gazes upon creation to such an extent that he beholds God.
　　He dreams,buy newport cigarettes online, he feels himself great; he dreams on, and feels himself tender. From the egotism of the man who suffers he passes to the compassion of the man who meditates.
　　An admirable sentiment breaks forth in him, forgetfulness of self and pity for all. As he thinks of the innumerable enjoyments which nature offers, gives, and lavishes to souls which stand open, and refuses to souls that are closed, he comes to pity, he the millionnaire of the mind, the millionnaire of money.
　　All hatred departs from his heart, in proportion as light penetrates his spirit.
　　And is he unhappy? No. The misery of a young man is never miserable.
　　The first young lad who comes to hand, however poor he may be, with his strength, his health, his rapid walk, his brilliant eyes, his warmly circulating blood, his black hair, his red lips, his white teeth, his pure breath, will always arouse the envy of an aged emperor. And then, every morning, he sets himself afresh to the task of earning his bread; and while his hands earn his bread, his dorsal column gains pride, his brain gathers ideas.
　　His task finished, he returns to ineffable ecstasies, to contemplation, to joys; he beholds his feet set in afflictions, in obstacles, on the pavement, in the nettles, sometimes in the mire; his head in the light.
　　He is firm serene, gentle, peaceful, attentive, serious, content with little,monster beats, kindly; and he thanks God for having bestowed on him those two forms of riches which many a rich man lacks:
　　work, which makes him free; and thought, which makes him dignified.
　　This is what had happened with Marius.
　　To tell the truth, he inclined a little too much to the side of contemplation.
　　From the day when he had succeeded in earning his living with some approach to certainty, he had stopped, thinking it good to be poor, and retrenching time from his work to give to thought; that is to say, he sometimes passed entire days in meditation, absorbed, engulfed, like a visionary, in the mute voluptuousness of ecstasy and inward radiance. He had thus propounded the problem of his life:
　　to toil as little as possible at material labor, in order to toil as much as possible at the labor which is impalpable; in other words, to bestow a few hours on real life,newport 100s, and to cast the rest to the infinite.
　　As he believed that he lacked nothing, he did not perceive that contemplation, thus understood, ends by becoming one of the forms of idleness; that he was contenting himself with conquering the first necessities of life, and that he was resting from his labors too soon.
　　It was evident that, for this energetic and enthusiastic nature, this could only be a transitory state, and that, at the first shock against the inevitable complications of destiny, Marius would awaken.
　　In the meantime,newport red cigarettes, although he was a lawyer, and whatever Father Gillenormand thought about the matter,golden virginia tobacco, he was not practising, he was not even pettifogging.
　　Meditation had turned him aside from pleading. To haunt attorneys, to follow the court, to hunt up cases-- what a bore!
　　Why should he do it?
　　He saw no reason for changing the manner of gaining his livelihood!
　　The obscure and ill-paid publishing establishment had come to mean for him a sure source of work which did not involve too much labor, as we have explained, and which sufficed for his wants.
　　One of the publishers for whom he worked, M. Magimel, I think, offered to take him into his own house, to lodge him well, to furnish him with regular occupation, and to give him fifteen hundred francs a year monster headphones.
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