A Stout Heart May Be Ruined In

Such Is The Remorseless Progression Of Human Society, Shedding Lives And Souls As It Goes On Its Way. It Is An Ocean Into Which Men Sink Who Have Been Cast Out By The Law And Consigned, With Help Most Cruelly Withheld, To Moral Death. The Sea Is The Pitiless Social Darkness Into Which The Penal System Casts Those It Has Condemned, An Unfathomable Waste Of Misery. The Human Soul, Lost In Those Depths, May Become A Corpse. Who Shall Revive It?

Ma Vie Est Une énigme Dont Ton Nom Est Le Mot. (my Life Is An Enigma, Of Which Your Name Is The Word.)

All That Was Neither A City, Nor A Church, Nor A River, Nor Color, Nor Light, Nor Shadow: It Was Reverie. For A Long Time, I Remained Motionless, Letting Myself Be Penetrated Gently By This Unspeakable Ensemble, By The Serenity Of The Sky And The Melancholy Of The Moment. I Do Not Know What Was Going On In My Mind, And I Could Not Express It; It Was One Of Those Ineffable Moments When One Feels Something In Himself Which Is Going To Sleep And Something Which Is Awakening.

A War Between Europeans Is A Civil War.

Do Not Forget, Do Not Ever Forget, That You Have Promised Me To Use The Money To Make Yourself An Honest Man.' Valjean, Who Did Not Recall Having Made Any Promise, Was Silent. The Bishop Had Spoken The Words Slowly And Deliberately. He Concluded With A Solemn Emphasis: Jean Valjean, My Brother, You No Longer Belong To What Is Evil But To What Is Good. I Have Bought Your Soul To Save It From Black Thoughts And The Spirit Of Perdition, And I Give It To God.