In 1815, M. Charles Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D-----. He was a man of seventy-five, and had occupied the bishopric of D----- since 1806. Although it in no manner concerns, even in the remotest degree, what we have to relate, it may not be useless, were it only for the sake of exactness in all things, to notice here the reports and gossip which had arisen on his account from the time of his arrival in the diocese.

Another story must begin!

Do not ask the name of the person who seeks a bed for the night. He who is reluctant to give his name is the one who most needs shelter.

If I speak, I am condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned!

She might have melted a heart of stone, but nothing can melt a heart of wood.

Not seeing people allows you to think of them as perfect in all kinds of ways.

...Though we chisel away as best we can at the mysterious block from which our life is made, the black vein of destiny continually reappears.