"He had heard these things so many times that they had nothing original for him. Emma was like all his mistresses; and the charm of novelty, gradually falling away like a garment, revealed the naked, eternal monotony of passion, which always has the same forms and the same language. This man, so full of practical sense, did not distinguish the dissimilarity of feelings under the similarity of expressions. Because libertine or venal lips had murmured similar phrases to him, he scarcely believed in the candor of these; one had to discount, he thought, exaggerated speeches hiding mediocre affections: as if the fullness of the soul did not sometimes overflow through the emptiest metaphors, since no one can ever give the exact measure of their needs, or their conceptions, or their pains, and human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, when we would like to move the stars to pity."

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