The Man Is Placed Where The Earth

He Had Slipped, Climbed, Rolled, Searched, Walked, Persevered, That Is All. Such Is The Secret Of All Triumphs.

Gavroche Had Fallen Only To Rise Again; He Sat Up, A Long Stream Of Blood Rolled Down His Face, He Raised Both Arms In Air, Looked In The Direction Whence The Shot Came, And Began To Sing.

There Have Been In This Century Only One Great Man And One Great Thing: Napoleon And Liberty. For Want Of The Great Man, Let Us Have The Great Thing.

So A Voice In The Mountain Is Enough To Let Loose An Avalanche. A Word Too Much May Be Followed By A Caving In. If The Word Had Not Been Spoken, It Would Not Have Happened.

We Say And Exclaim Within Ourselves Without Breaking Silence, In A Tumult Where Everything Speaks Except Our Mouths. The Realities Of The Soul Are None The Less Real For Being Invisible And Impalpable.