The Poetic Element Lying Hidden In Most

Gavroche Had Fallen Only To Rise Again; He Sat Up, A Long Stream Of Blood Rolled Down His Face, He Raised Both Arms In Air, Looked In The Direction Whence The Shot Came, And Began To Sing.

Great Griefs Exhaust. They Discourage Us With Life. The Man Into Whom They Enter Feels Something Taken From Him. In Youth, Their Visit Is Sad; Later On, It Is Ominous.

For, To Make Deserts, God, Who Rules Mankind, Begins With Kings, And Ends The Work By Wind.

To Destroy Abuses Is Not Enough; Habits Must Also Be Changed. The Windmill Has Gone, But The Wind Is Still There." ~old Man G--- To Monseigneur Bienvenu Myriel

It Is The Peculiarity Of Grief To Bring Out The Childish Side Of Man.