As with stomachs, we should pity minds that do not eat.
Man is not a circle with a single center; he is an ellipse with two focii. Facts are one, ideas are the other.
I have a dream my life would be. So different from this hell I'm living. So different now from what it seem. Now life has killed the dream I dreamed." *Fantine
Are you what is called a lucky man? Well, you are sad every day. Each day has its great grief or its little care... Hardly one day in a hundred of unbroken joy and sunshine. And you are of that small number who at lucky! As for the other men, stagnan...
I have an old hat which is not worth three francs, I have a coat which lacks buttons in front, my shirt is all ragged, my elbows are torn, my boots let in the water; for the last six weeks I have not thought about it, and I have not told you about it...
. . .where there is no more hope, song remains.
Monsieur Bienvenu was simply a man who accepted these mysterious questions...and who had in his soul a deep respect for the mystery which enveloped them.
France bleeds, but liberty smiles, and before the smile of liberty, France forgets her wound.
Si la nature s’appelle providence, la société doit s’appeler prévoyance.
What was more needed by this old man who divided the leisure hours of his life, where he had so little leisure, between gardening in the daytime, and contemplation at night? Was not this narrow enclosure, with the sky for a background, enough to enab...
He fell to the seat, she by his side. There no more words. The stars were beginning to shine. How was it that their lips met? How is it that the birds sing, the the snow melts, that the rose opens, that May blooms, that the dawn whitens behind the bl...
Night sometimes lends such tragic assistance to catastrophe.
Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.
You always have everything better than the rest, even pain.
To study in Paris is to be born in Paris!
If you ask the great city, ‘Who is this person?,’ she will answer, ‘He is my child.
To breathe Paris is to preserve one's soul.
To err is human, to stroll is Parisian.
