M. Myriel had to undergo the fate of every newcomer in a little town, where there are many mouths which talk, and very few heads which think.
Profound hearts, wise minds, take life as God makes it; it is a long trial, and unintelligible preparation for the unknown destiny.
There is will in the thought, there is none in the dream. The dream, which is completely spontaneous, takes and keeps, even in the gigantic and the ideal, the form of our mind. Nothing springs more directly and more sincerely from the very bottom of our souls than our unreflected and indefinite aspirations towards the splendours of destiny.
When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned; they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny; they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love, soar.
Win a lottery-prize and you are a cleaver man. Winners are adulated. To be born with a caul is everything; luck is what matters. Be fortunate and you will be thought great.
Love has no middle term; either it destroys, or it saves. All human destiny is this dilemma. This dilemma, destruction or salvation, no fate proposes more inexorably than love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; coffin, too. The same sentiment says yes and no in the human heart. Of all the things God has made, the human heart is the one that sheds most light, and alas! most night.
Adorable ambuscades of providence!
Can human nature ever be wholly and radically transformed? Can the man whom God made good be made wicked by man? Can the soul be reshaped in its entirety by destiny and made evil because destiny is evil? Can the heart become misshapen and afflicted with ugly, incurable deformities under disproportionate misfortune, like a spinal column bent beneath a too low roof?
Every man who has in his soul a secret feeling of revolt against any act of the State, of life, or of destiny, is on the verge of riot; and so soon as it appears, he begins to quiver, and to feel himself borne away by the whirlwind.
It is an error to imagine that fate can be exhausted, and that one has reached the bottom of anything whatever.
It was all over with him. Marius loved a woman. His destiny was entering upon the unknown.
In vain we chisel, as best we can, the mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny reappears continually.
More Victor Hugo Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Life - Love - God - Soul - Mind - Woman - Nature - Society & Civilization - Light - Happiness - Fate & Destiny - Sadness - Night - Facts - Thought & Thinking - Future - Infinity - Progress - View All Victor Hugo Quotations
More Victor Hugo Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Les Miserables
- The Hunchback of Notre Dame
- The Huntchback of Notre Dame
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