A Poet Is A World Enclosed In

A Few Feet Under The Ground Reigns So Profound A Silence, And Yet So Much Tumult On The Surface!

Kings Are For Nations In Their Swaddling-clothes: France Has Attained Her Majority.

Puns Are The Droppings Of Soaring Wits.

When Love Has Fused And Mingled Two Beings In A Sacred And Angelic Unity, The Secret Of Life Has Been Discovered So Far As They Are Concerned; They Are No Longer Anything More Than The Two Boundaries Of The Same Destiny; They Are No Longer Anything But The Two Wings Of The Same Spirit. Love, Soar.

To Destroy Abuses Is Not Enough; Habits Must Also Be Changed. The Windmill Has Gone, But The Wind Is Still There." ~old Man G--- To Monseigneur Bienvenu Myriel