At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her, she thought that she felt a touch of fire imprinted on her lips, a kiss more burning than the red-hot iron of the executioner.

By putting forward the hands of the clock you shall not advance the hour.

...But listen, there will be more joy in heaven over the tears of a repentant sinner than over the white robes of a hundred just men.

Everything being a constant carnival, there is no carnival left.

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.

At a certain depth of distress, the poor, in their stupor, groan no longer over evil, and are no longer thankful for good.

Philosophy is the microscope of thought.