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Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings.

Victor Hugo

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Victor Hugo
Age: 83 †
Born: 1802
Born: February 26
Died: 1885
Died: May 22
Drawer
Essayist
Illustrator
Librettist
Memoirist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Politician
Travel Writer
Writer
Besac
Victor Marie Hugo
Victor-Marie Hugo
Victor Marie
Comte Hugo
Wings
Bird
Perched
Animal
Bending
Knowing
Frail
Away
Sings
Stills
Branch
Still
Beneath
Feels
Branches

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Freedom in art, freedom in society, this is the double goal towards which all consistent and logical minds must strive.
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The tomb is not a blind alley: it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight. It opens on the dawn.
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A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor.
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To love is the half of to believe.
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The pupil dilates in darkness and in the end finds light, just as the soul dilates in misfortune and in the end finds God.
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It is those books which a man possesses but does not read which constitute the most suspicious evidence against him.
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Popularity? It's glory's small change.
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The memory of an absent person shines in the deepest recesses of the heart, shining the more brightly the more wholly its object has vanished: a light on the horizon of the despairing, darkened spirit a star gleaming in our inward night.
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When I speak to you about myself, I am speaking to you about yourself. How is it you don't see that?
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Because one doesn't like the way things are is no reason to be unjust towards God.
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Philosophy is the microscope of thought. Everything desires to flee from it, but nothing escapes it.
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Short as life is, we make it still shorter by the careless waste of time.
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When two souls have finally found each other, there is established between them a union which begins on earth and continues forever in heaven.
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Melancholy is the pleasure of being sad.
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The spirit of God, like the sun, always gives all its light at once. The spirit of man resembles the pale moon, which has its phases, its absences and its returns, its lucidity and its spots, its fullness and its disappearance, which borrows all its light from the rays of the sun, and which still dares to intercept them on occasion.
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Sacrificing the earth for paradise is giving up the substance for the shadow.
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When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity, the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love, soar.
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Love resembles a tree: it bends under its own weight, deeply rooted in our being and sometimes turns green in the ruins of a heart.
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He who despairs is wrong.
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