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“I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Grantaire, earthbound in doubt, loved to watch Enjolras soaring in the upper air of faith. He needed Enjolras. Without being fully aware of it, or seeking to account for it himself, he was charmed by that chaste, upright, inflexible and candid nature.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Let us never fear robbers or murderers. They are dangers from without, petty dangers. Let us fear ourselves. Prejudices are the real robbers; vices are the real murderers. The great dangers lie within ourselves. What matters it if something threatens are head or our purse! Let us think only of that which threatens the soul.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Hardly had the light been extinguished, when a peculiar trembling began
to affect the netting under which the three children lay.

It consisted of a multitude of dull scratches which produced a metallic
sound, as if claws and teeth were gnawing at the copper wire. This was
accompanied by all sorts of little piercing cries.

The little five-year-old boy, on hearing this hubbub overhead, and
chilled with terror, jogged his brother's elbow; but the elder brother
had already shut his peepers, as Gavroche had ordered. Then the little
one, who could no longer control his terror, questioned Gavroche, but in
a very low tone, and with bated breath:--

"Sir?"

"Hey?" said Gavroche, who had just closed his eyes.

"What is that?"

"It's the rats," replied Gavroche.

And he laid his head down on the mat again.

The rats, in fact, who swarmed by thousands in the carcass of the
elephant, and who were the living black spots which we have already
mentioned, had been held in awe by the flame of the candle, so long as
it had been lighted; but as soon as the cavern, which was the same
as their city, had returned to darkness, scenting what the good
story-teller Perrault calls "fresh meat," they had hurled themselves in
throngs on Gavroche's tent, had climbed to the top of it, and had begun
to bite the meshes as though seeking to pierce this new-fangled trap.

Still the little one could not sleep.

"Sir?" he began again.

"Hey?" said Gavroche.

"What are rats?"

"They are mice."

This explanation reassured the child a little. He had seen white mice in
the course of his life, and he was not afraid of them. Nevertheless, he
lifted up his voice once more.

"Sir?"

"Hey?" said Gavroche again.

"Why don't you have a cat?"

"I did have one," replied Gavroche, "I brought one here, but they ate
her."

This second explanation undid the work of the first, and the little
fellow began to tremble again.

The dialogue between him and Gavroche began again for the fourth time:--

"Monsieur?"

"Hey?"

"Who was it that was eaten?"

"The cat."

"And who ate the cat?"

"The rats."

"The mice?"

"Yes, the rats."

The child, in consternation, dismayed at the thought of mice which ate
cats, pursued:--

"Sir, would those mice eat us?"

"Wouldn't they just!" ejaculated Gavroche.

The child's terror had reached its climax. But Gavroche added:--

"Don't be afraid. They can't get in. And besides, I'm here! Here, catch
hold of my hand. Hold your tongue and shut your peepers!”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“France is great because she is France.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Cosette was not very timid by nature. There flowed in her veins some of the blood of the bohemian and the adventuress who runs barefoot. It will be remembered that she was more of a lark than a dove. There was a foundation of wildness and bravery in her”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“If there is anything terrible, if there exists a reality which surpasses dreams, it is this: to live, to see the sun, to be in full possession of viral force; to possess health and joy; to laugh valiantly; to rush toward a glory which one sees dazzling in front of one; to feel in ones's breast lounges which breath, a heart which beats, a will which reasons; to speak, think, hope, love; to have a mother, to have a wife, to have children, to have the light - and all at once, in the space of a shout, in less than a minute, to sink into an abyss; to fall, to roll, to crush, to be crushed,to see ears of wheat, flowers, leaves, branches; not to be able to catch hold of anything; to feel one's sword useless, men beneath one, horses on top of one; to struggle in vain, since ones bones have been broken by some kick in the darkness; to feel a heel which makes ones's eyes start from their sockets; to bite horses' shoes in one's rage,; to stifle. to yell, to writhe; to be beneath, and to say to one's self, "But just a little while ago I was a living man!”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Relegated, as he was, to one corner, and sheltered behind the billiard-table, the soldiers whose eyes were fixed on Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat his order: "Take aim!" when all at once, they heard a strong voice shout beside them:

"Long live the Republic! I'm one of them."

Grantaire had risen. The immense gleam of the whole combat which he had missed, and in which he had had no part, appeared in the brilliant glance of the transfigured drunken man.

He repeated: "Long live the Republic!" crossed the room with a firm stride and placed himself in front of the guns beside Enjolras.

"Finish both of us at one blow," said he.

And turning gently to Enjolras, he said to him:

"Do you permit it?"

Enjolras pressed his hand with a smile.

This smile was not ended when the report resounded.

Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained leaning against the wall, as though the balls had nailed him there. Only, his head was bowed.

Grantaire fell at his feet, as though struck by a thunderbolt.”
― Victor Hugo

“Do not cry for me, I am already dead."
"No, not dead, the dead at least are free.”
― Kester Grant, The Court of Miracles

“He sleeps. Although his fate was very strange, he lived. He died when he had no longer his angel. The thing came to pass simply, of itself, as the night comes when day is gone.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“The barber ran to the broken window, and saw Gavroche, who was running with all his might towards the Saint Jean market. On passing the barber's shop, Gavroche, who had the two children on his mind, could not resist the desire to bid him "good day", and had sent a stone through his sash.
"See!" screamed the barber, who from white had become blue, "he makes mischief. What has anybody done to this Gamin?”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
Is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
When tomorrow comes!”
― Les Miserables The Broadway Musical

“The first symptom of true love in a young man
is timidity; in a young girl, boldness. This is surprising, yet nothing is more simple. It is the two sexes tending
to approach each other and assuming, each the other鈥檚
qualities.
That day, Cosette鈥檚 glance drove Marius beside himself,
and Marius鈥� glance set Cosette to trembling. Marius went
away confident, and Cosette uneasy. From that day forth,
they adored each other.
The first thing that Cosette felt was a confused and profound
melancholy. It seemed to her that her soul had become
black since the day before. She no longer recognized it. The
whiteness of soul in young girls, which is composed of coldness
and gayety, resembles snow. It melts in love, which is
its sun.
Cosette did not know what love was. She had never heard
the word uttered in its terrestrial sense. She did not know
what name to give to what she now felt. Is any one the less ill
because one does not know the name of one鈥檚 malady?
She loved with all the more passion because she loved ignorantly.
She did not know whether it was a good thing or a
bad thing, useful or dangerous, eternal or temporary, allowable
or prohibited; she loved. She would have been greatly
astonished, had any one said to her: 鈥榊ou do not sleep? But
that is forbidden! You do not eat? Why, that is very bad! You
have oppressions and palpitations of the heart? That must
not be! You blush and turn pale, when a certain being clad
in black appears at the end of a certain green walk? But that
is abominable!鈥� She would not have understood, and she
would have replied: 鈥榃hat fault is there of mine in a matter
in which I have no power and of which I know nothing?鈥�
It turned out that the love which presented itself was
exactly suited to the state of her soul. It was admiration
at a distance, the deification
of a stranger. It was the apparition of youth to youth, the
dream of nights become a reality yet remaining a dream,
the longed-for phantom realized and made flesh at last, but
having as yet, neither name, nor fault, nor spot, nor exigence,
nor defect; in a word, the distant lover who lingered
in the ideal, a chimaera with a form. Any nearer and more
palpable meeting would have alarmed Cosette at this first
stage, when she was still half immersed in the exaggerated
mists of the cloister. She had all the fears of children and
all the fears of nuns combined. The spirit of the convent,
with which she had been permeated for the space of five
years, was still in the process of slow evaporation from her
person, and made everything tremble around her. In this
situation he was not a lover, he was not even an admirer, he
was a vision. She set herself to adoring Marius as something
charming, luminous, and impossible.
As extreme innocence borders on extreme coquetry, she
smiled at him with all frankness.
Every day, she looked forward to the hour for their walk
with impatience, she found Marius there, she felt herself
unspeakably happy, and thought in all sincerity that she
was expressing her whole thought when she said to Jean
痴补濒箩别补苍:鈥�
鈥榃hat a delicious garden that Luxembourg is!鈥�
Marius and Cosette were in the dark as to one another.
They did not address each other, they did not salute each
other, they did not know each other; they saw each other;
and like stars of heaven which are separated by millions of
leagues, they lived by gazing at each other.
It was thus that Cosette gradually became a woman and
developed, beautiful and loving, with a consciousness of
beauty and in ignorance of love.”
― Victor Hugo

“I understand only love and liberty.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

“Make thought a whirlwind.”
― Victor Hugo

“Argot is both a literary and a social phenomenon. What is argot, properly speaking? Argot is the language of misery.”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables, tome I/3

“What is admirable in the clash of young minds is that no one can foresee the spark that sets off an explosion or predict what kind of explosion it will be.”
― Victor Hugo

“As he wept, daylight penetrated more and more clearly
into his soul; an extraordinary light; a light at once ravishing
and terrible. His past life, his first fault, his long expiation,
his external brutishness, his internal hardness, his dismissal
to liberty, rejoicing in manifold plans of vengeance, what
had happened to him at the Bishop鈥檚, the last thing that he
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had done, that theft of forty sous from a child, a crime all
the more cowardly, and all the more monstrous since it
had come after the Bishop鈥檚 pardon,鈥攁ll this recurred to
his mind and appeared clearly to him, but with a clearness
which he had never hitherto witnessed. He examined his
life, and it seemed horrible to him; his soul, and it seemed
frightful to him. In the meantime a gentle light rested over
this life and this soul. It seemed to him that he beheld Satan
by the light of Paradise.
How many hours did he weep thus? What did he do after
he had wept? Whither did he go! No one ever knew. The
only thing which seems to be authenticated is that that same
night the carrier who served Grenoble at that epoch, and
who arrived at D鈥斺€� about three o鈥檆lock in the morning,
saw, as he traversed the street in which the Bishop鈥檚 residence
was situated, a man in the attitude of prayer, kneeling
on the pavement in the shadow, in front of the door of Monseigneur
Welcome.”
― Victor Hugo

“In fact, had it been given to our eyes of the
flesh to gaze into the consciences of others, we should be
able to judge a man much more surely according to what he
dreams, than according to what he thinks. There is will in
thought, there is none in dreams. Revery, which is utterly
spontaneous, takes and keeps, even in the gigantic and the
ideal, the form of our spirit. Nothing proceeds more directly
and more sincerely from the very depth of our soul, than
our unpremeditated and boundless aspirations towards the
splendors of destiny. In these aspirations, much more than
in deliberate, rational coordinated ideas, is the real character
of a man to be found. Our chimeras are the things which
the most resemble us. Each one of us dreams of the unknown
and the impossible in accordance with his nature.”
― Victor Hugo

“Please yourself, you won't get in. I can't be the daughter of a dog seeing as I am the daughter of a wolf! There are six of you. What's that to me? You're men. Well, I'm a woman. You don't frighten me, that's for sure. I'm telling you, you won't get inside this house because I don't want you to. If you come any nearer I'll bark. I told you, I'm the 'cab'. I couldn't care less about you. Now be on your way, I've had enough of you! Go anywhere you like, but don't come here, I won't let you! You use your knives, I'll use my feet, it's all the same to me. So come on, then!”
― Victor Hugo, Les Mis茅rables

“Vivemos em uma sociedade sombria. Ser bem-sucedido, eis o ensinamento que, gota a gota, vai caindo da corrup莽茫o que avan莽a.”
― Victor Hugo

“In fact, when the scaffold is there, all erected and
prepared, it has something about it which produces hallucination.
One may feel a certain indifference to the death
penalty, one may refrain from pronouncing upon it, from
saying yes or no, so long as one has not seen a guillotine
with one鈥檚 own eyes: but if one encounters one of them, the
shock is violent; one is forced to decide, and to take part for
or against. Some admire it, like de Maistre; others execrate
it, like Beccaria. The guillotine is the concretion of the law;
it is called vindicte; it is not neutral, and it does not permit
you to remain neutral. He who sees it shivers with the most
mysterious of shivers. All social problems erect their interrogation
point around this chopping-knife. The scaffold is a
vision. The scaffold is not a piece of carpentry; the scaffold is
not a machine; the scaffold is not an inert bit of mechanism
constructed of wood, iron and cords.
It seems as though it were a being, possessed of I know
not what sombre initiative; one would say that this piece
of carpenter鈥檚 work saw, that this machine heard, that this
mechanism understood, that this wood, this iron, and these
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cords were possessed of will. In the frightful meditation
into which its presence casts the soul the scaffold appears
in terrible guise, and as though taking part in what is going
on. The scaffold is the accomplice of the executioner; it
devours, it eats flesh, it drinks blood; the scaffold is a sort of
monster fabricated by the judge and the carpenter, a spectre
which seems to live with a horrible vitality composed of all
the death which it has inflicted.”
― Victor Hugo

“Is there not in every human soul, was there not in the soul
of Jean Valjean in particular, a first spark, a divine element,
incorruptible in this world, immortal in the other, which
good can develop, fan, ignite, and make to glow with splendor,
and which evil can never wholly extinguish?
Grave and obscure questions, to the last of which every
physiologist would probably have responded no, and that
without hesitation, had he beheld at Toulon, during the
hours of repose, which were for Jean Valjean hours of revery,
this gloomy galley-slave, seated with folded arms upon
the bar of some capstan, with the end of his chain thrust
into his pocket to prevent its dragging, serious, silent, and
thoughtful, a pariah of the laws which regarded the man
with wrath, condemned by civilization, and regarding
heaven with severity.
Certainly,鈥攁nd we make no attempt to dissimulate the
fact,鈥� the observing physiologist would have beheld an ir-
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remediable misery; he would, perchance, have pitied this
sick man, of the law鈥檚 making; but he would not have even
essayed any treatment; he would have turned aside his gaze
from the caverns of which he would have caught a glimpse
within this soul, and, like Dante at the portals of hell, he
would have effaced from this existence the word which the
finger of God has, nevertheless, inscribed upon the brow of
every man,鈥攈ope.
Was this state of his soul, which we have attempted to
analyze, as perfectly clear to Jean Valjean as we have tried
to render it for those who read us? Did Jean Valjean distinctly
perceive, after their formation, and had he seen
distinctly during the process of their formation, all the elements
of which his moral misery was composed? Had this
rough and unlettered man gathered a perfectly clear perception
of the succession of ideas through which he had, by
degrees, mounted and descended to the lugubrious aspects
which had, for so many years, formed the inner horizon of
his spirit? Was he conscious of all that passed within him,
and of all that was working there? That is something which
we do not presume to state; it is something which we do
not even believe. There was too much ignorance in Jean
Valjean, even after his misfortune, to prevent much vagueness
from still lingering there. At times he did not rightly
know himself what he felt. Jean Valjean was in the shadows;
he suffered in the shadows; he hated in the shadows;
one might have said that he hated in advance of himself. He
dwelt habitually in this shadow, feeling his way like a blind
man and a dreamer. Only, at intervals, there suddenly came
160 Les Miserables
to him, from without and from within, an access of wrath,
a surcharge of suffering, a livid and rapid flash which illuminated
his whole soul, and caused to appear abruptly all
around him, in front, behind, amid the gleams of a frightful
light, the hideous precipices and the sombre perspective
of his destiny.
The flash passed, the night closed in again; and where
was he? He no longer knew. The peculiarity of pains of this
nature, in which that which is pitiless鈥攖hat is to say, that
which is brutalizing鈥攑redominates, is to transform a man,
little by little, by a sort of stupid transfiguration, into a wild
beast; sometimes into a ferocious beast.
Jean Valjean鈥檚 successive and obstinate attempts at escape
would alone suffice to prove this strange working of the
law upon the human soul. Jean Valjean would have renewed
these attempts, utterly useless and foolish as they were, as
often as the opportunity had presented itself, without reflecting
for an instant on the result, nor on the experiences
which he had already gone through. He escaped impetuously,
like the wolf who finds his cage open. Instinct said
to him, 鈥楩lee!鈥� Reason would have said, 鈥楻emain!鈥� But in the
presence of so violent a temptation, reason vanished;”
― Hugo

“Here we pause. On the threshold of wedding nights
stands a smiling angel with his finger on his lips.
The soul enters into contemplation before that sanctuary
where the celebration of love takes place.
There should be flashes of light athwart such houses. The
joy which they contain ought to make its escape through
the stones of the walls in brilliancy, and vaguely illuminate
the gloom. It is impossible that this sacred and fatal festival
should not give off a celestial radiance to the infinite. Love is
the sublime crucible wherein the fusion of the man and the
woman takes place; the being one, the being triple, the being
final, the human trinity proceeds from it. This birth of two
souls into one, ought to be an emotion for the gloom. The
lover is the priest; the ravished virgin is terrified. Something
of that joy ascends to God. Where true marriage is, that is
to say, where there is love, the ideal enters in. A nuptial bed
makes a nook of dawn amid the shadows. If it were given to
the eye of the flesh to scan the formidable and charming visions
of the upper life, it is probable that we should behold
the forms of night, the winged unknowns, the blue passers
of the invisible, bend down, a throng of sombre heads,
around the luminous house, satisfied, showering benedictions,
pointing out to each other the virgin wife gently
alarmed, sweetly terrified, and bearing the reflection of
human bliss upon their divine countenances. If at that supreme
hour, the wedded pair, dazzled with voluptuousness
and believing themselves alone, were to listen, they would
hear in their chamber a confused rustling of wings. Perfect
happiness implies a mutual understanding with the angels.
2318 Les Miserables
That dark little chamber has all heaven for its ceiling. When
two mouths, rendered sacred by love, approach to create, it
is impossible that there should not be, above that ineffable
kiss, a quivering throughout the immense mystery of stars.
These felicities are the true ones. There is no joy outside
of these joys. Love is the only ecstasy. All the rest weeps.
To love, or to have loved,鈥攖his suffices. Demand nothing
more. There is no other pearl to be found in the shadowy
folds of life. To love is a fulfilment.”
― Victor Hugo

“Cosette took both the old man鈥檚 hands in hers.
鈥楳y God!鈥� said she, 鈥榶our hands are still colder than before.
Are you ill? Do you suffer?鈥�
鈥業? No,鈥� replied Jean Valjean. 鈥業 am very well. Only 鈥︹€�
He paused.
鈥極nly what?鈥�
鈥業 am going to die presently.鈥�
Cosette and Marius shuddered.
鈥楾o die!鈥� exclaimed Marius.
鈥榊es, but that is nothing,鈥� said Jean Valjean.
He took breath, smiled and resumed:
鈥楥osette, thou wert talking to me, go on, so thy little robin
red-breast is dead? Speak, so that I may hear thy voice.鈥�
Marius gazed at the old man in amazement.
Cosette uttered a heartrending cry.
鈥楩ather! my father! you will live. You are going to live. I
insist upon your living, do you hear?鈥�
Jean Valjean raised his head towards her with adoration.
鈥極h! yes, forbid me to die. Who knows? Perhaps I shall
obey. I was on the verge of dying when you came. That
stopped me, it seemed to me that I was born again.鈥�
鈥榊ou are full of strength and life,鈥� cried Marius. 鈥楧o you
imagine that a person can die like this? You have had sorrow,
you shall have no more. It is I who ask your forgiveness,
and on my knees! You are going to live, and to live with
us, and to live a long time. We take possession of you once
more. There are two of us here who will henceforth have no
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other thought than your happiness.鈥�
鈥榊ou see,鈥� resumed Cosette, all bathed in tears, 鈥榯hat Marius
says that you shall not die.鈥�
Jean Valjean continued to smile.
鈥楨ven if you were to take possession of me, Monsieur
Pontmercy, would that make me other than I am? No, God
has thought like you and myself, and he does not change his
mind; it is useful for me to go. Death is a good arrangement.
God knows better than we what we need. May you be happy,
may Monsieur Pontmercy have Cosette, may youth wed the
morning, may there be around you, my children, lilacs and
nightingales; may your life be a beautiful, sunny lawn, may
all the enchantments of heaven fill your souls, and now let
me, who am good for nothing, die; it is certain that all this
is right. Come, be reasonable, nothing is possible now, I am
fully conscious that all is over. And then, last night, I drank
that whole jug of water. How good thy husband is, Cosette!
Thou art much better off with him than with me.”
― Victor Hugo