Victor Hugo Quotes
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With a tiny bit of effort, the nettle would be useful; if you neglect it, it becomes a pest. So then we kill it. How many men are like nettles My friends, there is no such thing as a weed and no such thing as a bad man. There are only bad cultivators.
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...Human thought has no limit. At its risk and peril, it analyzes and dissects its own fascination. We could almost say that, by a sort of splendid reaction, it fascinates nature; the mysterious world surrounding us returns what it receives; it is likely that contemplators are contemplated.
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Music is the vapor of art. It is to poetry what reverie is to thought, what fluid is to solid, what the ocean of clouds is to the ocean of waves.
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He did not study God; he was dazzled by him.
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All who suffer are full of hatred; all who live drag a remorse: the dead alone have broken their chains.
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Philosophy is the microscope of thought. Everything desires to flee from it, but nothing escapes it.
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What is the cat?" he exclaimed. "It is a corrective. God, having made the mouse, said, 'I've made a blunder.' And he made the cat. The cat is the erratum of the mouse. The mouse, plus the cat, Is the revised and corrected proof of creation.
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...mothers are often fondest of the child which has caused them the greatest pain.
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Creation lives, grows, and multiplies; man is but a witness.
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We would be ashamed of our best behavior if the people knew the motives of our behaving so.
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Freedom begins where it ends ignorance.
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Need is a low door which, when we must by stern necessity pass through, forces the greatest to bend down the most.
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The peculiarity of sunrise is to make us laugh at all our terrors of the night, and our laugh is always proportioned to the fear we have had.
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I see black light (his last words).
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To be a saint is the exception; to be a just person is the rule. Err, stumble, commit sin, but be one of the just.
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A fixed idea ends in madness or heroism.
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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.
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Do not ask the name of the person who seeks a bed for the night. He who is reluctant to give his name is the one who most needs shelter.
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Progress is the stride of God.
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France lost a great novel last night.
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The hatred of luxury is not an intelligent hatred. It implies a hatred of arts.
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By making himself a priest made himself a demon.
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So a voice in the mountain is enough to let loose an avalanche. A word too much may be followed by a caving in. If the word had not been spoken, it would not have happened.
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Those who always pray are necessary to those who never pray.