Love is the folly of men and the wit of God.
Listen, Monsieur Director, here's what I think. Obviously this is wrong. There are twenty-six of you in five or six small rooms; there are three of us in space enough for sixty. That is wrong, I assur...
Lavorava per vivere; poi, sempre per vivere, poiché anche il cuore ha fame, amò.
L'âme qui aime et qui souffre est à l'état sublime.
Jean Prouvaire was timid only in repose. Once excited, he burst forth, a sort of mirth accentuated his enthusiasm, and he was at once both laughing and lyric.
It seems to me that I am shooting a flower.
It is a charming quality of the happiness we inspire in others that, far from being diminished like a reflection, it comes back to us enhanced.
Is it not the best pity, when a man has a sore point, not to touch it at all?
Hunchback
He had, they said, tasted in succession all the apples of the tree of knowledge, and, whether from hunger or disgust, had ended by tasting the forbidden fruit.
He had, like everyone else, his suffix ist, without which nobody could have lived in those days, but he was neither a royalist, nor a Bonapartist, nor a chartist, nor an Orléanist, nor an anarchist; h...
He felt as though his brain were on fire. She had come to him, what joy! And then, how she had looked at him! She seemed more beautiful than ever before. Beautiful with a beauty that combined all of t...
Good! And what if you should happen to cough or to sneeze? A man who is making his escape does not cough or sneeze.
God raises from the dead he who man slays, he whom his brothers have rejected, finds his father once more. Pray, believe, enter into life the father is there.
Factions are blind men who aim correctly.
Et ces deux âmes, sœurs tragiques, s'envolèrent ensemble, l'ombre de l'une mêlée à la lumière de l'autre.
Es que tiene en el alma una perla, la inocencia; y las perlas no se disuelven en el fango.[...]Se revuelca en estiércol y sale de él recubierto de estrellas.
Do you want a priest?I have one. answered Jean Valjean.
Cosette, by learning that she was beautiful, lost the grace of not knowing it; an exquisite grace, for beauty heightened by artlessness is ineffable, and nothing is so adorable as dazzling innocence,...
Adorable ambuscades of providence!