When love has fused and mingled two beings in a sacred and angelic unity the secret of life has been discovered so far as they are concerned they are no longer anything more than the two boundaries of the same destiny they are no longer anything but the two wings of the same spirit. Love soar.

You who suffer because you love love still more. To die of love is to live by it.

Promise to give me a kiss on my brow when I am dead. --I shall feel it.She dropped her head again on Marius knees and her eyelids closed. He thought the poor soul had departed. Eponine remained motionless. All at once at the very moment when Marius fancied her asleep forever she slowly opened her eyes in which appeared the sombre profundity of death and said to him in a tone whose sweetness seemed already to proceed from another world--And by the way Monsieur Marius I believe that I was a little bit in love with you.

The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for ourselves or rather loved in spite of ourselves.

The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins and in this way only.

What Is Love I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love. His hat was old his coat worn the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul

What was more needed by this old man who divided the leisure hours of his life where he had so little leisure between gardening in the daytime and contemplation at night Was not this narrow enclosure with the sky for a background enough to enable him to adore God in his most beautiful as well as in his most sublime works Indeed is not that all and what more can be desired A little garden to walk and immensity to reflect upon. At his feet something to cultivate and gather above his head something to study and meditate upon a few flowers on the earth and all the stars in the sky.

I have a dream my life would be. So different from this hell Im living. So different now from what it seem. Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.Fantine

The human soul has still greater need of the ideal than of the real. It is by the real that we exist it is by the ideal that we live.

From Les MiserablesAll at once in the midst of this profound calm a fresh sound arose a sound as celestial divine ineffable ravishing as the other had been horrible. It was a hymn which issued from the gloom a dazzling burst of prayer and harmony in the obscure and alarming silence of the night womens voices but voices composed at one and the same time of the pure accents of virgins and the innocent accent of children -- voices which are not of the earth and which resemble those that the newborn infant still hears and which the dying man hears already. This song proceeded from the gloomy edifice which towered above the garden. At the moment when the hubbub of demons retreated one would have said that a choir of angels was approaching through the gloom.Cosette and Jean Valjean fell on their knees.They knew not what it was they knew not where they were but both of them the man and the child the penitent and the innocent felt that they must kneel.These voices had this strange characteristic that they did not prevent the building from seeming to be deserted. It was a supernatural chant in an uninhabited house. While these voices were singing Jean Valjean thought of nothing. He no longer beheld the night he beheld a blue sky. It seemed to him that he felt those wings which we all have within us unfolding.The song died away. It may have lasted a long time. Jean Valjean could not have told. Hours of ecstasy are never more than a moment.