He struggled bleeding to my feet; and could I let him die, after all?
Could I be crueller than prison, and torture, and despair ?" The doctor sighed deeply; but, arming himself with the necessary resolution, he sternly replied, "A woman of your name cannot vacillate between love and honor; such vacillations have but one end.

I will not let you drift a moral wreck between passion and virtue; and that is what it will come to if you hesitate now." "Hesitate! Who can say I have hesitated where my honor was concerned?
You can read our bodies then, but not our hearts.

What! you see me so pale, forlorn, and dead, and that does not tell you I have bid Camille farewell forever?
That we might be safer still I have not even told him he is a father: was ever woman so cruel as I am?
I have written him but one letter, and in that I must deceive him.

I told him I thought I might one day be happy, if I could hear that he did not give way to despair.

I told him we must never meet again in this world.