...though We Chisel Away As Best We

At That Moment Of Love, A Moment When Passion Is Absolutely Silent Under Omnipotence Of Ecstasy, Marius, Pure Seraphic Marius, Would Have Been More Capable Of Visiting A Woman Of The Streets Than Of Raising Cosette’s Dress Above The Ankle. Once On A Moonlit Night, Cosette Stopped To Pick Up Something From The Ground, Her Dress Loosened And Revealed The Swelling Of Her Breasts. Marius Averted His Eyes.

She Had Had Sweet Dreams, Which Possibly Arose From The Fact That Her Little Bed Was Very White.

Every Blade Has Two Edges; He Who Wounds With One Wounds Himself With The Other.

The Human Soul Has Still Greater Need Of The Ideal Than Of The Real. It Is By The Real That We Exist; It Is By The Ideal That We Live.

That Is The Explanation Of War, An Outrage By Humanity Upon Humanity In Despite Of Humanity.