Victor Hugo Quotes
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Every man is a book in which God himself writes.
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I exist," murmurs someone whose name is Everyone. "I'm young and in love; I am old and I want rest; I work, I prosper, I do good business, I have houses to rent, money in State Securities; I am happy, I have wife and children; I like all these things and I want to go on living, so leave me alone."... There are moments when all this casts a deep chill on the large-minded pioneers of the human race.
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We need those who pray constantly to compensate for those who do not pray at all.
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Out Milky Way is the dwelling; the nebulae are the city.
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Profound hearts, wise minds, take life as God makes it; it is a long trial, and unintelligible preparation for the unknown destiny.
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That is to be two and to be but one. A man and a woman mingled into one angel. It is heaven.
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For, to make deserts, God, who rules mankind, Begins with kings, and ends the work by wind.
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An increase of tenderness always ended by boiling over and turning to indignation. He was at the point where we seek to adopt a course, and to accept what tears us apart.
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It is only barbarous nations who have a sudden growth after a victory.
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The man is placed where the Earth ends, the woman, where the heaven starts.
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God in his harmony has equal ends For cedar that resists and reed that bends; For good it is a woman sometimes rules, Holds in her hand the power, and manners, schools, And laws, and mind; succeeding master proud, With gentle voice and smiles she leads the crowd, The somber human troop.
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A day will come when there will be no battlefields, but markets opening to commerce and minds opening to ideas.
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Revolutions spring not from accident, but from necessity. A revolution is a return from the factitious to the real. It takes place because it must.
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Science says the first word on everything, and the last word on nothing.
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He would give all of his clothes to his servant, admonishing him NOT to return them until he had completed his day's work.
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What makes night within us may leave stars.
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The poor man shuddered, overflowed with an angelic joy; he declared in his transport that this would last through life; he said to himself that he really had not suffered enough to deserve such radiant happiness, and he thanked God, in the depths of his soul, for having permitted that he, a miserable man, should be so loved by this innocent being.
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Being good is easy, what is difficult is being just.
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Symmetry is ennui, and ennui is the very essence of grief and melancholy. Despair yawns.
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While contemplating the bride, and eyeing the cake of soap, he muttered between his teeth: 'Tuesday. It was not Tuesday. Was it Tuesday? Perhaps it was Tuesday. Yes, it was Tuesday.' No one has ever discovered to what this monologue referred. Yes, perchance, this monologue had some connection with the last occasion on which he had dined, three days before, for it was now Friday.
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Solitude either develops the mental power, or renders men dull and vicious.
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Let us fear ourselves. Prejudices are the real robbers; vices are the real murderers. The great dangers lie within ourselves.
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He is the best gentleman that is the son of his own deserts, and not the degenerated heir of another's virtue.
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Life is a theatre set in which there are but few practicable entrances.