Let us sacrifice one day to gain perhaps a whole life.
She loved with so much passion as she loved with ignorance. She did not know whether it were good or evil, beneficent or dangerous, necessary or accidental, eternal or transitory, permitted or prohibited: she loved.
The sadness which reigned everywhere was but an excuse for unfailing kindness.
What happened between those two beings? Nothing. They were adoring one another.
Are you afraid of the good you might do?
He endeavored to collect his thoughts, but did not succeed. At those hours especially when we have sorest need of grasping the sharp realities of life do the threads of though snap off in the brain.
Marius and Cosette were in the dark in regard to each other. They did not speak, they did not bow, they were not acquainted; they saw each other; and, like the stars in the sky separated by millions of leagues, they lived by gazing upon each other.
That men saw his mask, but the bishop saw his face. That men saw his life, but the bishop saw his conscience.
These are dark radiances. They have no suspicion that they are to be pitied. Certainly they are so. He who does not weep does not see. They are to be admired and pitied, as one would both pity and admire a being at once night and day, without eyes beneath his lashes but with a star on his brow.
Youth is the future smiling at a stranger, which is itself.
Daring is the price of progress. All splendid conquests are the prize of boldness, more or less.
His universal compassion was due less to natural instinct, than to a profound conviction, a sum of thoughts that in the course of living had filtered through to his heart: for in the nature of man, as in rock, there may be channels hollowed by the dropping of water, and these can never be destroyed.
Oh! would that we were lying side by side in the same grave, hand in hand, and from time to time, in the darkness, gently caressing a finger -- that would suffice for my eternity!
The life of the cenobite is a human problem. When we speak of convents, those seats of error but innocence, of mistaken views but good intentions, of ignorance but devotion, of torment but martyrdom, we must nearly always say yes or no...The monastery is a renunciation. Self-sacrifice, even when misdirected, is still self-sacrifice. To assume as duty a strict error has its peculiar grandeur.
To lie a little is not possible: he who lies, lies the whole lie.
My misfortune is that I still resemble a man too much. I should liked to be wholly a beast like that goat. - Quasimodo
There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering--a hell of boredom.
Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man.... Jean Valjean, my brother: you belong no longer to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God!
It is a false and dangerous situation which bases public power on private want, and roots the grandeur of the State in the suffering of the individual. It is a badly constituted grandeur which combines all the material elements, and into which no moral element enters.
Let us study things that are no more. It is necessary to understand them, if only to avoid them.
She worked in order to live, and presently fel in love, also in order to live, for the heart, too, has its hunger.
The soul falls into contemplation before this sanctuary, where the celebration of love is held.
What is called honors and dignities, and even honor and dignity, is generally fool's gold.
As for methods of prayer, all are good, as long as they are sincere.
He had not lived long enough to have discovered that nothing is more close at hand than the impossible, and what must be looked for is the unforeseen.
My greatness does not extend to this shelf.
The barber in his shop, warmed by a good stove, was shaving a customer and casting from time to time a look towards this enemy, this frozen and brazen gamin, who had both hands in his pockets, but his wits evidently out of their sheath.
They are the same thing. Conscience is the amount of inner knowledge that we possess.
Large, heavy, ragged black clouds hung like crape hammocks beneath the starry cope of the night. You would have said that they were the cobwebs of the firmament.
Desiring always to be in mourning, he clothed himself with night.
More Victor Hugo Quotations (Based on Topics)
Man - Life - Love - God - Soul - Mind - Woman - Nature - Light - Happiness - Society & Civilization - Fate & Destiny - Sadness - Night - Thought & Thinking - Facts - Infinity - Future - Progress - View All Victor Hugo Quotations
More Victor Hugo Quotations (By Book Titles)
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- The Huntchback of Notre Dame
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