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A thousand men enslaved fear one beast free.
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
Fear
Men
Enslaved
Beast
Thousand
Free
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Great buildings, like great mountains, are the work of centuries.
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The wicked envy and hate it is their way of admiring.
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A few feet under the ground reigns so profound a silence, and yet so much tumult on the surface!
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The soul does not give itself up to despair until it has exhausted all illusions.
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There are many lovely women, but no perfect ones.
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Who then can calculate the path of the molecule? how do we know that the creations of worlds are not determined by the fall of grains of sand?
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The repose of darkness is deeper on the water than on the land.
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Tobacco is the plant that converts thoughts into dreams.
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Great griefs exhaust. They discourage us with life. The man into whom they enter feels something taken from him. In youth, their visit is sad later on, it is ominous.
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When dictatorship is a fact, revolution becomes a right.
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Winter is on my head, but eternal spring is in my heart I breathe at this hour the fragrance of the lilacs, the violets, and the roses, as at twenty years ago.
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Dark Error's other hidden side is truth.
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Happiness wishes everybody happy.
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The miserable's name is Man he is agonizing in all climes, and he is groaning in all languages.
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Society is a republic. When an individual tries to lift themselves above others, they are dragged down by the mass, either by ridicule or slander.
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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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Every bad institution of this world ends by suicide.
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Great blunders are often made, like large ropes, of a multitude of fibres.
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...Though we chisel away as best we can at the mysterious block from which our life is made, the black vein of destiny continually reappears.
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Gutenberg's invention of printing is the greatest event-the mother of revolution
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