Victor Hugo

“In the moment when the eyes of the two men met, Javert, without having moved or made the least gesture, became hideous. No human emotion can wear an aspect so terrible as that of jubilation. He had the face of a fiend who has found the victim he thought he had lost.”

“Did not i say that things would come right of themselves? said the Bishop. Then he added, with a smile, To him who contents himself with the surplice of a curate, God sends the cope of an archbishop. Monseigneur, murmured the cure, throwing back his head with a smile. God or the Devil.”

“I'm not in the world to guard my own life, but to guard souls”

“God will bless you,' said he, 'you are an angel since you take care of the flowers.''No,' she replied. 'I am the devil, but that's all the same to me.”

“In realtà il patibolo, quando è lì, drizzato, ha alcunché d'allucinante. Si può avere una certa indifferenza a proposito della pena di morte, non pronunciarsi, dire di sì e no, fino a quando non si è visto coi propri occhi una ghigliottina; ma se avviene d'incontrarne una, la scossa è violenta e bisogna decidersi a prendere partito pro o contro di essa. Taluni, come il De Maistre, ammirano; altri, come il Beccaria, esecrano. La ghigliottina concreta la legge: si chiama vendetta, ma non è neutra e non vi permette di restar neutro. Chi la scorge freme del più misterioso dei fremiti. Tutte le questioni sociali drizzano intorno alla mannaia il loro punto interrogativo. Il patibolo è una visione; ma non è una costruzione, ma non è una macchina, ma non è un inerte meccanismo fatto di legno, di ferro e di corde. Sembra ch'esso sia una specie d'essere con non so qual cupa iniziativa; si direbbe che quella costruzione veda, che quella macchina senta, che quel meccanismo capisca, che quel legno, quel ferro e quelle corde vogliano. Nella spaventosa fantasticheria in cui la sua presenza getta l'anima, il patibolo appare terribile e sembra partecipe di quello che fa.È il complice del carnefice: divora, mangia la carne,beve il sangue. Il patibolo è una specie di mostro fabbricato dal giudice e dal falegname, uno spettro che sembra vivere d'una specie di vita spaventevole, fatta di tutta la morte che ha dato.”

“superfluous”

“to arrive at this flourishing condition had required years. He had undergone everything, in the shape of privation; he had done everything, except get into debt. Rather than borrow, he did not eat.”

“As for wine, he drank water.”

“Carve as we will the mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny constantly reappears in it.”

“A forza d'uscire per recarsi a sognare, viene il giorno in cui si esce per andarsi ad annegare.”

“Quel che aveva visto, non era l'occhio ingenuo e semplice d'una bimba, ma un abisso misterioso, che s'era socchiuso e poi rinserrato bruscamente. V'è un giorno in cui ogni fanciulla guarda in quel modo. Disgraziato colui che si trova davanti a quello sguardo!Quel primo sguardo di un'anima che non si conosce ancora è come l'alba nel cielo: è il destarsi di qualche cosa di radioso e d'ignoto. Nulla saprebbe rendere il fascino pericoloso di quel bagliore inatteso, che rischiara vagamente ad un tratto tenebre adorabili e si compone di tutta l'innocenza del presente e di tutta la passione dell'avvenire. È una tenerezza indecisa che si rivela chissà perché e aspetta; è un agguato che l'innocenza tende a sua insaputa e nel quale essa prende i cuori, senza volerlo né saperlo; è una vergine, che guarda come una donna.È raro che là dove esso cade non nasca una profonda meditazione da quello sguardo. Tutta la purezza e ogni ardore si concentrano in quel raggio celeste e fatale, che, più delle occhiate meglio studiate delle civette, ha il magico potere di far sbocciare subitamente nel fondo di un'anima quel fiore cupo, pieno di profumi e veleni, che si chiama l'amore.”

“Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. Itis your soul that I buy from you; I withdraw it from black thoughts andthe spirit of perdition, and I give it to God.”

“Woe, alas, to the one who shall have loved bodies, forms, appearances only. Death will take everything from him. Try to love souls, you shall find them again”

“diocese”

“Victor-Marie Hugo (26 February 1802 — 22 May 1885) was a French poet, novelist, playwright, essayist, visual artist, statesman, human rights campaigner, and perhaps the most influential exponent of the Romantic movement in France. In France, Hugo's literary reputation rests on his poetic and dramatic output. Among many volumes of poetry, Les Contemplations and La Légende des siècles stand particularly high in critical esteem, and Hugo is sometimes identified as the greatest French poet. In the English-speaking world his best-known works are often the novels Les Misérables and Notre-Dame de Paris (sometimes translated into English as The Hunchback of Notre-Dame). Though extremely conservative in his youth, Hugo moved to the political left as the decades passed; he became a passionate supporter of republicanism, and his work touches upon most of the political and social issues and artistic trends of his time. Source: Wikipedia”

“It was a garbage heap, and it was Sinai.”

“At his feet something to cultivate and gather; above his head something to study and meditate on; a few flowers on earth and all the stars in heaven.”

“He had, like everyone else, his suffix ist, without which nobody could have lived in those days, but he was neither a royalist, nor a Bonapartist, nor a chartist, nor an Orléanist, nor an anarchist; he was an old-bookist.”

“Go on philosophers--teach, enlighten, kindle, think aloud, speak up, run joyfully toward broad daylight, fraternize in the public squares, announce the glad tidings, lavish your alphabets, proclaim human rights, sing your Marseillaises, sow enthusiasms, tear off green branches from the oak trees. Make thought a whirlwind. This multitude can be sublimated. Let us learn to avail ourselves of this vast conflagration of principles and virtues, which occasionally sparkles, bursts, and shudders. These bare feet, these naked arms, these rags, these shades of ignorance, depths of despair, the gloom can be used for the conquest of the ideal. Look through the medium of the people, and you will discern the truth. This lowly sand that you trample underfoot, if you throw it into a furnace and let it melt and seethe, will become sparkling crystal; and thanks to such as this a Galileo and a Newton will discover the stars.”

“L’homme a sur lui la chair, qui est tout à la fois son fardeau et sa tentation. Il la traîne et lui cède.”

“People who are crushed do not look behind them. They know but too well the evil fate which follows them.”

“It is a shame that I am ignorant, otherwise I would quote to you a mass of things; but I know nothing.”

“As he wished always to appear in mourning, he clothed himself with the night.”

“One would say, to see all these snow-flakes fall, that there was a plague of white butterflies in heaven.”

“A vacancy in the heart does not accomodate itself to a stop-gap.”

“Love, the future is thine. Death, I make use of thee, but I hate thee. Citizens, in the future there will be neither darkness nor thunderbolts; neither ferocious ignorance, nor bloody retaliation. As there will be no more Satan, there will be no more Michael. In the future no one will kill any one else, the earth will beam with radiance, the human race will love. The day will come, citizens, when all will be concord, harmony, light, joy and life; it will come, and it is in order that is may come that we are about to die.”

“It is nothing to die; it is dreadful not to live.”

“Para el obispo, la vista de la guillotina fue un golpe terrible del cual tardó mucho tiempo en reponerse. En efecto: el patíbulo, cuando está ante nuestros ojos levantado, derecho, tiene algo que alucina. Se puede sentir cierta indiferencia hacia la pena de muerte, no pronunciarse ni en pro ni en contra, no decir ni sí ni que no mientras no se ha visto una guillotina; pero si se llega a ver una, la sacudida es violenta; es menester decidirse y tomar partido en pro o en contra de ella. Los unos admiran, como De Maistre; los otros execran, como Beccaria. La guillotina es la concreción de la ley: se llama 'vindicta'; no es indiferente ni os permite que lo seáis tampoco. Quien llega a verla se estremece con el más misterioso de los estremecimientos. Todas las cuestiones sociales alzan sus interrogantes en torno de aquella cuchilla. El cadalso es una visión: no es un tablado ni una máquina, ni un mecanismo frío de madera, de hierro y de cuerdas. Parece que es una especie de ser que tiene no sé qué sombría iniciativa. Se diría que aquellos andamios ven, que aquella madera, aquel hierro y aquellas cuerdas tienen voluntad. En la horrible meditación en que aquella vista sume al alma, el patíbulo aparece terrible y como teniendo conciencia de lo que hace. El patíbulo es el cómplice del verdugo; devora, come carne, bebe sangre. Es una especie de monstruo fabricado por el juez y por el carpintero; un espectro que parece vivir una especie de vida espantosa, hecha con todas las muertes que ha dado.”

“Whom man kill, God restores to life; whom the brothers pursue the Father redeems. Pray and believe and go onward into life. You Father is there.”

“There are men who dig for gold; [Monseigneur Bienvenu] dug for compassion.”

“No force on earth can stop an idea whose time has come”

“Nothing on the horizon; nothing in heaven.He implores the expanse, the waves, the seaweed, the reef; they are deaf. He beseeches the tempest; the imperturbable tempest obeys only the infinite.Around him darkness, fog, solitude, the stormy and non- sentient tumult, the undefined curling of those wild waters. In him horror and fatigue. Beneath him the depths. Not a point of support. He thinks of the gloomy adventures of the corpse in the limitless shadow. The bottomless cold paralyzes him. His hands contract convulsively; they close, and grasp nothingness. Winds, clouds, whirlwinds, gusts, useless stars! What is to be done? The desperate man gives up; he is weary, he chooses the alternative of death; he resists not; he lets himself go; he abandons his grip; and then he tosses forevermore in the lugubrious dreary depths of engulfment.Oh, implacable march of human societies! Oh, losses of men and of souls on the way! Ocean into which falls all that the law lets slip! Disastrous absence of help! Oh, moral death! The sea is the inexorable social night into which the penal laws fling their condemned. The sea is the immensity of wretchedness.The soul, going down stream in this gulf, may become a corpse. Who shall resuscitate it?”

“There are no trivial facts in humanity, nor little leaves in vegetation.”

“The child entered the hut.The old man followed him with his eyes, and added, as though speaking to himself: - "I shall die while he sleeps. The two slumbers may be good neighbors.”

“Le gamin est un être qui s'amuse, parce qu'il est malheureux.”

“A minute afterwards he appeared upon the upper platform, still bearing the gipsy [sic] in his arms, still running wildly along, still shouting 'Sanctuary!' and the crowd still applauding. At last he made a third appearance on the summit of the tower of the great bell. From thence he seemed to show exultingly to the whole city the fair creature he had saved; and his thundering voice, that voice which was heard so seldom, and which he never heard at all, thrice repeated with frantic vehemence, even in the very clouds, 'Sactuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary! The Hunchback of Notre Dame”

“Quasimodo then lifted his eye to look upon the gypsy girl, whose body, suspended from the gibbet, he beheld quivering afar, under its white robes, in the last struggles of death; then again he dropped it upon the archdeacon, stretched a shapeless mass at the foot of the tower, and he said with a sob that heaved his deep breast to the bottom, 'Oh-all that I've ever loved!' The Hunchback of Notre Dame”

“We shall not attempt to give the reader an idea of that tetrahedron nose-that horse-shoe mouth-that small left eye over-shadowed by a red bushy brow, while the right eye disappeared entirely under an enormous wart-of those straggling teeth with breaches here and there like the battlements of a fortress-of that horny lip, over which one of those teeth projected like the tusk of an elephant-of that forked chin-and, above all, of the expression diffused over the whole-that mixture of malice, astonishment, and melancholy. Let the reader, if he can, figure to himself this combination.”

“Questro libro è un dramma in cui il primo personaggio è l'infinito: l'uomo il secondo.”

“Nel secolo decimonono, l'idea religiosa subisce una crisi: si disimparano alcune cose, il che è bene, a patto che, disimparando questo, si impari quello. Nessun vuoto, nel cuore umano! Si fanno talune demolizioni ed è bene; ma a condizione che siano seguite da ricostruzioni. Nel frattempo, studiamo le cose che non son più. E' necessario conoscerle, non fosse che per evitarle. Le contraffazioni del passato prendono falsi nomi e si chiaman volentieri l'avvenire; quel fantasma ch'è il passato è soggetto a falsificare il suo passaporto. Mettiamoci a conoscenza del tranello e diffidiamo. Il passato ha un viso, la superstizione, ed una maschera, l'ipocrisia: denunciamo il viso e strappiamo la maschera.”

“Prima della rivoluzione, quando un gran personaggio, un maresciallo di Francia, un duca e pari o un principe attraversava una città di quelle regioni, la rappresentanza municipale si recava a fargli un discorso e gli presentava quattro ciotole d'argento in cui erano stati versati quattro vini diversi; sulla prima tazza si leggeva quest'iscrizione: vino di scimma, sulla seconda: vino di leone, sulla terza: vino di montone e sulla quarta: vino di porco. Quelle quattro leggende esprimevano i quattro gradi pei quali discende l'ubriaco: la prima ebbrezza, quella che rallegra; la seconda, quella che eccita; la terza quella che inebetisce e la quarta, finalmente, quella che abbrutisce.”

“V'è uno spettacolo più grande del mare, ed è il cielo;v'è uno spettacolo più grande del cielo, ed è l'interno dell'anima.Far il poema della coscienza umana, foss'anco d'un sol uomo, del più infimo fra gli uomini, sarebbe come fondere tutte le epopee in un'epopea superiore e definitiva. La coscienza è il caos delle chimere, delle cupidigie e dei tentativi, la fornace dei sogni, l'antro delle idee di cui si ha vergogna; è il pandemonio dei sofismi, è il campo di battaglia delle passioni. Penetrate, in certe ore, attraverso la faccia livida d'un uomo che sta riflettendo, guardate in quell'anima, in quell'oscurità; sotto il silenzio esteriore, vi sono combattimenti di giganti come in Omero, mischie di dragoni ed idre e nugoli di fantasmi, come in Milton, visioni ultraterrene come in Dante. Oh, qual abisso è mai quest'infinito che ogni uomo porta in sé e col quale confronta disperatamente la volontà del cervello e gli atti della vita!”

“Venti e nubi, turbini e folate, inutili stelle! Che fare? Disperato s'abbandona, poiché chi è stanco decide di morire e lascia fare, si lascia andare, cede, ed eccolo rotolato per sempre nelle mortali profondità dell'abisso vorace. Oh, implacabile cammino delle società umane! Perdita di uomini e d'anime per strada! Oceano in cui cade tutto ciò che la legge lascia cadere! Sinistra scomparsa del soccorso, morte morale!”

“All has happened to her that will happen to her. She has felt everything, borne everything, experienced everything, suffered everything, lost everything, mourned everything. She is resigned, with that resignation which resembles indifference, as death resembles sleep. She no longer avoids anything. Let all the clouds fall upon her, and all the ocean sweep over her! What matters it to her? She is a sponge that is soaked.”

“Let us remark by the way, that to be blind and to be loved, is, in fact, one of the most strangely exquisite forms of happiness upon this earth, where nothing is complete. To have continually at one's side a woman, a daughter, a sister, a charming being, who is there because you need her and because she cannot do without you; to know that we are indispensable to a person who is necessary to us; to be able to incessantly measure one's affection by the amount of her presence which she bestows on us, and to say to ourselves, "Since she consecrates the whole of her time to me, it is because I possess the whole of her heart"; to behold her thought in lieu of her face; to be able to verify the fidelity of one being amid the eclipse of the world; to regard the rustle of a gown as the sound of wings; to hear her come and go, retire, speak, return, sing, and to think that one is the centre of these steps, of this speech; to manifest at each instant one's personal attraction; to feel one's self all the more powerful because of one's infirmity; to become in one's obscurity, and through one's obscurity, the star around which this angel gravitates,—few felicities equal this. The supreme happiness of life consists in the conviction that one is loved; loved for one's own sake—let us say rather, loved in spite of one's self; this conviction the blind man possesses. To be served in distress is to be caressed. Does he lack anything? No. One does not lose the sight when one has love. And what love! A love wholly constituted of virtue! There is no blindness where there is certainty. Soul seeks soul, gropingly, and finds it. And this soul, found and tested, is a woman. A hand sustains you; it is hers: a mouth lightly touches your brow; it is her mouth: you hear a breath very near you; it is hers. To have everything of her, from her worship to her pity, never to be left, to have that sweet weakness aiding you, to lean upon that immovable reed, to touch Providence with one's hands, and to be able to take it in one's arms,—God made tangible,—what bliss! The heart, that obscure, celestial flower, undergoes a mysterious blossoming. One would not exchange that shadow for all brightness! The angel soul is there, uninterruptedly there; if she departs, it is but to return again; she vanishes like a dream, and reappears like reality. One feels warmth approaching, and behold! she is there. One overflows with serenity, with gayety, with ecstasy; one is a radiance amid the night. And there are a thousand little cares. Nothings, which are enormous in that void. The most ineffable accents of the feminine voice employed to lull you, and supplying the vanished universe to you. One is caressed with the soul. One sees nothing, but one feels that one is adored. It is a paradise of shadows.”

“It is painful to break the sad links to the past”

“Jean Valjean opened his eyes and looked at the bishop with an expression which no human tongue can describe.”

“Virtue has a veil, vice a mask.”

“In saying no to progress, it is not the future which they condemn, but themselves. They give themselves a melancholy disease; they inoculate themselves with the past. There is but one way of refusing tomorrow, that is to die.”

“Our joys have shadows. The perfect smile belongs to God alone.”