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Great grief is a divine and terrible radiance which transfigures the wretched.

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
Great
Transfigures
Radiance
Wretched
Grief
Sorrow
Terrible
Divine

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God secludes Himself but the thinker listens at the door.
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Our life dreams the Utopia. Our death achieves the Ideal.
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Nothing is really small whoever is open to the deep penetration of nature knows this.
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The ox suffers, the cart complains.
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Great blunders are often made, like large ropes, of a multitude of fibers. Take the cable thread by thread, take separately all the little determining motives, you break them one after another, and you say: that is all! Wind them and twist them together, they become an enormity.
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All the forces in the world are not so powerful as an idea whose time has come.
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The nearer I approach the end, the plainer I hear around me the immortal symphonies of the worlds which invite me. It is marvelous, yet simple.
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To put everything in balance is good, to put everything in harmony is better.
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Lastly, this threefold poetry flows from three great sources - The Bible, Homer, Shakespeare.... The Bible before the Iliad, the Iliad before Shakespeare.
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Genius: the superhuman in man.
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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.
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Art moves. Hence its civilizing power.
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You ask me what forces me to speak? a strange thing my conscience.
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Dying is nothing. What's terrible is not to live.
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Revery, which is thought in its nebulous state, borders closely upon the land of sleep, by which it is bounded as by a natural frontier.
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A stout heart may be ruined in fortune but not in spirit.
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The saints were his friends, and blessed him the monsters were his friends, and guarded him.
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There is something more terrible than a hell of suffering--a hell of boredom.
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A bit of mould is a pleiad of flowers a nebula is an ant-hill of stars.
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