Idleness is a mother. She has a son, robbery, and a daughter, hunger.

To think of shadows is a serious thing.

At the shrine of friendship never say die, let the wine of friendship never run dry

You would have imagined her at one moment a maniac, at another a queen.

The transept belfry and the two towers were to him three great cages, the birds in which, taught by him, would sing for him alone. Yet it was these same bells which had made him deaf; but mothers are often fondest of the child who has made them suffer most.

If nobody loved, the sun would go out.

Sublime upon sublime scarcely presents a contrast, and we need a little rest from everything, even the beautiful.