And had Bressant indeed been a child, the succession of his ideas and impulses could hardly have been more primitive and natural.
"What's to become of our Hebrew and history, if you turn poet ?" inquired the old gentleman, still chuckling.
Bressant turned his head away and closed his eyes wearily.

"I don't want any thing more to do with that," said he.

"Love is study enough, and work enough, for a lifetime.

Mathematics, and logic, and philosophy--all those things have nothing to do with love, and couldn't help me in it.
It's outside of every thing else: it has laws of its own: I'm just beginning to learn them." "A professional lover! well, as long as you recognize the sufficiency of one object in your studies, you might do worse, that's certain.

But you can't make a living out of it, my boy." "I don't need money, I have enough; if I hadn't, money-making is for men without hearts; but mine is bigger than my head; I must give myself up to it." "That won't do," returned the professor, shaking his head.