To Think Is Of Itself To Be

Years Place At Last A Venerable Crown Upon A Head.

A Writer Is A World Trapped In A Person.

Music Expresses That Which Cannot Be Said And On Which It Is Impossible To Be Silent.

The Future Has Several Names. For The Weak, It Is Impossible; For The Fainthearted, It Is Unknown; But For The Valiant, It Is Ideal.

He Was At His Own Request And Through His Own Complicity Driven Out Of All His Happinesses One After The Other; And He Had This Sorrow, That After Having Lost Cosette Wholly In One Day, He Was Afterwards Obliged To Lose Her Again In Detail.