“Nisi Dominus custodierit domum, in vanum vigilant qui custodiunt eam," Unless the Lord guard the house, in vain do they watch who guard it.”

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

“Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain. Unless the Lord builds the city, the guard keeps watch in vain.”

“The saints were his friends, and blessed him; the monsters were his friends, and guarded him.”

“We pray together, we are afraid together, and then we go to sleep. Even if Satan came into the house, no one would interfere. After all, what is there to fear in this house? There is always one with us who is the strongest. Satan may visit our house, but the good Lord lives here.”

“There exists yonder in the mountains," said the Bishop, "a tiny community no bigger than that, which I have not seen for three years. They are my good friends, those gentle and honest shepherds. They own one goat out of every thirty that they tend. They make very pretty woollen cords of various colors, and they play the mountain airs on little flutes with six holes. They need to be told of the good God now and then. What would they say to a bishop who was afraid? What would they say if I did not go?""But the brigands, Monseigneur?""Hold," said the Bishop, "I must think of that. You are right. I may meet them. They, too, need to be told of the good God.""But, Monseigneur, there is a band of them! A flock of wolves!""Monsieur le maire, it may be that it is of this very flock of wolves that Jesus has constituted me the shepherd. Who knows the ways of Providence?""They will rob you, Monseigneur.""I have nothing.""They will kill you.""An old goodman of a priest, who passes along mumbling his prayers? Bah! To what purpose?""Oh, mon Dieu! what if you should meet them!""I should beg alms of them for my poor.""Do not go, Monseigneur. In the name of Heaven! You are risking your life!""Monsieur le maire," said the Bishop, "is that really all? I am not in the world to guard my own life, but to guard souls.”

“Jean Valjean watched these ravages with anxiety. He who felt that he could never do anything but crawl, walk at the most, beheld wings sprouting on Cosette.”