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Ma vie est une énigme dont ton nom est le mot. (My life is an enigma, of which your name is the word.)

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
Life
Enigma
Dont
Name
Names
Word

More quotes by Victor Hugo

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I was always a lover of soft-winged things.
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Smallness in a great man seems smaller by its disproportion with all the rest.
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What would be ugly in a garden constitutes beauty in a mountain.
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The clouds, - the only birds that never sleep.
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The cruel of heart have their own black happiness.
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There is no more sovereign eloquence than the truth in indignation.
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Waterloo is a battle of the first rank won by a captain of the second
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Women play with their beauty as children do with their knives. They wound themselves with it.
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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.
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A republic may be called the climate of civilization.
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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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The ox suffers, the cart complains.
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Many great actions are committed in small struggles.
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Take all reasonable advantage of that which the present may offer you. It is the only time which is ours. Yesterday is buried forever, and to-morrow we may never see.
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Our acts make or mar us, we are the children of our own deeds.
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Reaction - a boat which is going against the current but which does not prevent the river from flowing on.
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When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age.
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She had had sweet dreams, which possibly arose from the fact that her little bed was very white.
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Marius and Cosette did not ask where this would lead them. They looked at themselves as arrived. It is a strange pretension for men to ask that love should lead them somewhere.
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Art moves. Hence its civilizing power.
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