"The Red Duke is capital.

I'll circulate that saying, be assured, my dear fellow.

Who says this Aramis is not a wit?
What a misfortune it is you did not follow your first vocation; what a delicious abbe you would have made!" "Oh, it's only a temporary postponement," replied Aramis; "I shall be one someday.

You very well know, Porthos, that I continue to study theology for that purpose." "He will be one, as he says," cried Porthos; "he will be one, sooner or later." "Sooner." said Aramis.
"He only waits for one thing to determine him to resume his cassock, which hangs behind his uniform," said another Musketeer.
"What is he waiting for ?" asked another.
"Only till the queen has given an heir to the crown of France." "No jesting upon that subject, gentlemen," said Porthos; "thank God the queen is still of an age to give one!" "They say that Monsieur de Buckingham is in France," replied Aramis, with a significant smile which gave to this sentence, apparently so simple, a tolerably scandalous meaning.
"Aramis, my good friend, this time you are wrong," interrupted Porthos.
"Your wit is always leading you beyond bounds; if Monsieur de Treville heard you, you would repent of speaking thus." "Are you going to give me a lesson, Porthos ?" cried Aramis, from whose usually mild eye a flash passed like lightning.
"My dear fellow, be a Musketeer or an abbe.

Be one or the other, but not both," replied Porthos.