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Her soul trembled on her lips like a drop of dew on a flower.
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
Trembled
Dew
Openness
Drop
Lips
Flower
Soul
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More quotes by Victor Hugo
What matters deafness of the ear, when the mind hears? The one true deafness, the incurable deafness, is that of the mind.
Victor Hugo
The learned man knows that he is ignorant.
Victor Hugo
Dear God! how beauty varies in nature and art.
Victor Hugo
Love is the only future God offers.
Victor Hugo
Men like me are impossible until the day when they become necessary.
Victor Hugo
It is sad to tell, but after having tried society, which had caused his misfortune, he tried Providence which created society, and condemned it also.
Victor Hugo
Rhyme, that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter.
Victor Hugo
Anger may be foolish and absurd, and one may be wrongly irritated, but a man never feels outraged unless in some respect he is fundamentally right.
Victor Hugo
Man does not understand nor accept immortality except on condition of self-remembrance.
Victor Hugo
I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.
Victor Hugo
Success is a very hideous thing. Its false resemblance to merit deceives men.
Victor Hugo
A wretched woman is more unfortunate than a wretched man.
Victor Hugo
Mankind is not a circle with a single center but an ellipse with two focal points of which facts are one and ideas the other.
Victor Hugo
Woman, nude, is the blue sky. Clouds and garments are an obstacle to contemplation. Beauty and infinity would be gazed upon unveiled.
Victor Hugo
Years place at last a venerable crown upon a head.
Victor Hugo
Homer is one of the men of genius who solve that fine problem of art - the finest of all, perhaps - truly to depict humanity by the enlargement of man: that is, to generate the real in the ideal.
Victor Hugo
Music is the vapor of art. It is to poetry what reverie is to thought, what fluid is to solid, what the ocean of clouds is to the ocean of waves.
Victor Hugo
Habit is the nursery of errors.
Victor Hugo
Youth is the future smiling at a stranger, which is itself.
Victor Hugo
God made the water but men made the wine.
Victor Hugo