Women are more credulous than men.

A one-eyed man is much more incomplete than a blind man, for he knows what it is that's lacking.

In the opera we call love, the libretto is almost nothing.

She was sad with an obscure sadness of which she had not the secret herself. There was in her whole person the stupor of a life ended but never commenced.

If it were (Is it not) outrageous that society should treat with such rigid precision those of its members who were most poorly endowed in the distribution or wealth that chance had made, and who were, therefore, most worthy of indulgence.

He who is not master of his own thoughts is not accountable for his own deeds.

Marius and Cosette did not ask where this would lead them. They looked at themselves as arrived. It is a strange pretension for men to ask that love should lead them somewhere.