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In my old age there is a coming into flower. My body wanes my mind waxes.

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
Body
Mind
Waxes
Wanes
Aging
Flower
Coming
Age

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To love or have loved is all-sufficing. We must not ask for more. No other pearl is to be found in the shadowfolds of life. To love is an accomplishment.
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Gutenberg's invention of printing is the greatest event-the mother of revolution
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I represent a party which does not yet exist: the party Revolution-Civilization. This party will make the twentieth century. There will issue from it first the United States of Europe, then the United States of the World.
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Inspiration and genius -one and the same.
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Art needs no spur beyond itself.
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What is history? An echo of the past in the future a reflex from the future on the past.
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He reached for his pocket, and found there, only reality
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Not seeing people permits us to imagine them with every perfection.
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We would be ashamed of our best behavior if the people knew the motives of our behaving so.
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A bird sings, a child prattles, but it is the same hymn hymn indistinct, inarticulate, but full of profound meaning.
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The repose of darkness is deeper on the water than on the land.
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To study in Paris is to be born in Paris!
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The little people must be sacred to the big ones, and it is from the rights of the weak that the duty of the strong is comprised.
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Habit is the nursery of errors.
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A saint addicted to excessive self-abnegation is a dangerous associate he may infect you with poverty, and a stiffening of those joints which are needed for advancement-in a word, with more renunciation than you care for-and so you flee the contagion.
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These are true felicities. No joy beyond these joys. Love is the only ecstasy, everything else weeps
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It is the peculiarity of grief to bring out the childish side of man.
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. . .where there is no more hope, song remains.
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Memory is a gulf that a word can move to its lowest depths.
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Everything speaks: the flowing airstream and the sailing halycon, the blade of grass, the flower, the bud, the element did you imagine the universe to be otherwise?
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