He had not lived long enough to have discovered that nothing is more close at hand than the impossible, and what must be looked for is the unforeseen.
The bureau is closed, said Gavroche. I'm receiving no more complaints.
There are no bad plants or bad men. There is only bad husbandry.
Love is like a tree: it grows by itself, roots itself deeply in our being and continues to flourish over a heart in ruin.
It was said of him that he had once been for a short time in Bedlam; they had done him the honour to take him for a madman, but had set him free on discovering that he was only a poet. This story was probably not true; we have all to submit to some such legend about us.
She gave anyone who saw her a sensation of April and of dawn. There was dew in her eyes. Cosette was a condensation of auroral light in womanly form.