Mothers arms are made of tenderness, And sweet sleep blesses the child who lies therein.

Do you know what friendship is?' he asked. 'Yes,' replied the gypsy; 'it is to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without mingling, two fingers on one hand.' 'And love?' pursued Gringoire. 'Oh! love!' said she, and her voice trembled, and her eye beamed. 'That is to be two and to be but one. A man and a woman mingled into one angel. It is heaven.

Being good is easy, what is difficult is being just.

She worked in order to live, and presently fell in love, also in order to live, for the heart, too, has its hunger.

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.

I am for religion, against religions.

The real, native South Seas food is lousy. You can't eat it.