To a gargoyle on the ramparts of Notre Dame as Esmeralda rides off with Gringoire Quasimodo says. "Why was I not made of stone like thee?

Melancholy is the pleasure of being sad.

A stout heart may be ruined in fortune but not in spirit.

The peasants of the Asturias believe that in every litter of wolves there is one pup that is killed by the mother for fear that on growing up it would devour the other little ones.

Here we stop. Upon the threshold of wedding nights stands an angel smiling, his finger on his lip.

When I speak to you about myself, I am speaking to you about yourself. How is it you don't see that?

Every bird which flies has the thread of the infinite in its claw.