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Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart.
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
Wintertime
Winter
Spring
Eternal
Head
Nature
Heart
More quotes by Victor Hugo
Phenomena intersect to see but one is to see nothing.
Victor Hugo
One believes others will do what he will do to himself.
Victor Hugo
She worked in order to live, and presently fell in love, also in order to live, for the heart, too, has its hunger.
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Nothing awakens reminiscence like an aroma.
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I'd rather be hissed at for a good verse, than applauded for a bad one.
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There is a secret drawer in every woman's heart.
Victor Hugo
A creditor is worse than a slave-owner for the master owns only your person, but a creditor owns your dignity, and can command it.
Victor Hugo
Women are more credulous than men.
Victor Hugo
Solitude either develops the mental power, or renders men dull and vicious.
Victor Hugo
There shall be no slavery of the mind.
Victor Hugo
Dirt has been shrewdly termed misplaced material.
Victor Hugo
The jostling of young minds against each other has this wonderful attribute, that one can never foresee the spark, nor predict the flash. What will spring up in a moment? Nobody knows.
Victor Hugo
Art needs no spur beyond itself.
Victor Hugo
Loving is half of believing.
Victor Hugo
The repose of darkness is deeper on the water than on the land.
Victor Hugo
A compliment is something like a kiss through a veil.
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Sublime upon sublime scarcely presents a contrast, and we need a little rest from everything, even the beautiful.
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A man without a woman is like a pistol without a trigger it is the woman who makes the man go off.
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Symmetry is ennui, and ennui is the very essence of grief and melancholy. Despair yawns.
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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.
Victor Hugo