He sought...to transform the grief which looks down into the grave by showing it the grief which looks up to the stars.

A faith is a necessity to a man. Woe to him who believes in nothing.

The women laughed and wept; the crowd stamped their feet enthusiastically, for at that moment Quasimodo was really beautiful. He was handsome — this orphan, this foundling, this outcast.

A bird sings, a child prattles, but it is the same hymn; hymn indistinct, inarticulate, but full of profound meaning.

Popularity? It's glory's small change.

No man is more unhappy than the one who is never in adversity; the greatest affliction of life is never to be afflicted.

Such is the remorseless progression of human society, shedding lives and souls as it goes on its way. It is an ocean into which men sink who have been cast out by the law and consigned, with help most cruelly withheld, to moral death. The sea is the pitiless social darkness into which the penal system casts those it has condemned, an unfathomable waste of misery. The human soul, lost in those depths, may become a corpse. Who shall revive it?