Fantine Quotes

A little girl without a doll is almost as unhappy, and quite as impossible, as a woman without children.

Le suprême bonheur de la vie, c'est la conviction qu'on est aimé; aimé pour soi-même, disons mieux, aimé malgré soi-même.

What is the true story of Fantine? It is the story of society's purchase of a slave. A slave purchased from poverty, hunger, cold, loneliness, defencelessness, destitution. A squalid bargain: a human soul for a hunk of bread. Poverty offers and society accepts.

The best way to look at the soul is through closed eyes.

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

She was a lovely blonde, with fine teeth. She had gold and pearls for her dowry; but her gold was on her head, and her pearls were in her mouth.

exquisite--such was Fantine; and beneath these feminine adornments and these ribbons one could divine a statue, and in that statue a soul.

Her heart ached, but she took her resolution. It will be seen that Fantine possessed the stern courage of life.

Être aimé, c'est en effet, sur cette terre où rien n'est complet, une des formes les plus étrangement exquises du bonheur.

Love is a fault; be it so. Fantine was innocence floating upon the surface of this fault.

Love is a fault; so be it. Fantine was innocence floating high over fault.

A hundred francs," thought Fantine. "But in what trade can one earn a hundred sous a day?" "Come!" said she, "let us sell what is left." The unfortunate girl became a woman of the town.

She talked thus, bent double, shaken with sobs, blinded by tears, her neck bare, clenching her hands, coughing with a dry and short cough, stammering very feebly with an agonised voice. Great grief is a divine and terrible radiance which transfigures the wretched. At that moment Fantine had again become beautiful. At certain instants she stopped and tenderly kissed the policeman’s coat. She would have softened a heart of granite; but you cannot soften a heart of wood

What is this history of Fantine? It is society purchasing a slave. From whom? From misery. From hunger, cold, isolation, destitution. A dolorous bargain. A soul for a morsel of bread. Misery offers; society accepts.

There is no one for spying on people's actions like those who are not concerned in them

What is this history of Fantine? It is society purchasing a slave. From whom? From misery. From hunger, cold, isolation, destitution. A dolorous bargain. A soul for a morsel of bread. Misery offers; society accepts. The sacred law of Jesus Christ governs our civilization, but it does not, as yet, permeate it; it is said that slavery has disappeared from European civilization. This is a mistake. It still exists; but it weighs only upon the woman, and it is called prostitution. It weighs upon the woman, that is to say, upon grace, weakness, beauty, maternity. This is not one of the least of man's disgraces.

Sad fate! he would enter into sanctity only in the eyes of God when he returned to infamy in the eyes of men.

We appreciate beauty more when we are aware of life’s troubles. — 8. Henri Fantin-Latour, Chrysanthemums, 1871

As long as he has for refrain nothing but la Carmagnole, he only overthrows Louis XVI.; make him sing the Marseillaise, and he will free the world.

The hatred of luxury is not an intelligent hatred. This hatred would involve the hatred of the arts.

Il y a une manière d'éviter qui ressemble à chercher.

eût su sa secrète et ancienne aversion pour M. Madeleine, son conflit avec le maire au sujet de la Fantine, et qui eût considéré Javert en ce moment, se fût dit : que s’est-il passé ?

Even when I’m caught off guard by a lathery shade of peach on the bottom corner of a painting at the Met, as if being reminded that I haven’t seen all the colors, and how there’s more to see, and how one color’s newness can invalidate all of my sureness. To experience infinity and sometimes too the teasing melancholy born from the smallest breakthroughs, like an unanticipated shade of peach, like Buster Keaton smiling, or my friend Doreen’s laugh—how living and opposite of halfhearted it is. Or my beautiful mother growing out her gray, or a lightning bolt’s fractal scarring on a human body, or Fantin-Latour’s hollyhocks, or the sound of someone practicing an instrument—the most sonically earnest sound. Or how staring at ocean water so blue, it leaves me bereft. In postcards, I’ll scribble “So blue!” because, what else?

At length he told himself that it must be so, that his destiny was thus allotted, that he had not authority to alter the arrangements made on high, that, in any case, he must make his choice: virtue without and abomination within, or holiness within and infamy without

Che cos'è, in fondo, questa storia di Fantine? È la società che compera una schiava. Da chi? Dalla miseria. Dalla fame, dal freddo, dall'isolamento, dall'abbandono, dallo squallore. Doloroso mercato! Un'anima per un pezzo di pane: la miseria offre, la società accetta.

Fantine... Fall on your knees whenever you pronounce it. She suffered much and loved you much. Her measure of unhappiness was as full as yours of happiness, such are the distributions of God. He is on high; He sees us all and He knows what He does in the midst of His great stars.

Em que consiste a história de Fantine? É a sociedade comprando uma escrava. A quem? À miséria. À fome, ao frio, ao isolamento, ao abandono, à indigência. Que comércio doloroso! Uma alma por um bocado de pão. A miséria oferece, a sociedade aceita. A santa lei de Jesus Cristo governa a nossa civilização, mas a civilização ainda não a integrou.

The galleys make the convict what he is; reflect upon that, if you please. Before going to the galleys, I was a poor peasant, with very little intelligence, a sort of idiot; the galleys wrought a change in me. I was stupid; I became vicious: I was a block of wood; I became a firebrand. Later on, indulgence and kindness saved me, as severity had ruined me

Les meilleurs esprits ont leurs fétiches, et parfois se sentent vaguement meurtris des manques de respect de la logique.

Soit dit en passant, c’est une chose assez hideuse que le succès. Sa fausse ressemblance avec le mérite trompe les hommes.

Vous avez l'air d'un joli visage sur lequel, par mégarde, on s'est assis.

Konuşan çok ağız, ama düşünen pek az kafa...

de son jupon sa couverture et de sa couverture son jupon, comment on ménage sa chandelle en prenant son repas à la lumière de la fenêtre d’en face. On ne sait pas tout ce que certains êtres faibles, qui ont vieilli dans le dénûment et l’honnêteté, savent tirer d’un sou. Cela finit par être un talent. Fantine acquit ce sublime talent et reprit un peu de courage.

Oh, implacable march of human societies! Oh, losses of men and of souls on the way! Ocean into which falls all that the law lets slip! Disastrous absence of help! Oh, moral death! The sea is the inexorable social night into which the penal laws fling their condemned. The sea is the immensity of wretchedness. The soul, going down stream in this gulf, may become a corpse. Who shall resuscitate it?

These Oscars bore the names, one of Felix Tholomyes, of Toulouse; the second, Listolier, of Cahors; the next, Fameuil, of Limoges; the last, Blachevelle, of Montauban. Naturally, each of them had his mistress. Blachevelle loved Favourite, so named because she had been in England; Listolier adored Dahlia, who had taken for her nickname the name of a flower; Fameuil idolized Zephine, an abridgment of Josephine; Tholomyes had Fantine, called the Blonde, because of her beautiful, sunny hair.

Qu’est-ce que c’est que cette histoire de Fantine ? C’est la société achetant une esclave. A qui ? A la misère. A la faim, au froid, à l’isolement, à l’abandon, au dénûment. Marché douloureux. Une âme pour un morceau de pain. La misère offre, la société accepte. La sainte loi de Jésus-Christ gouverne notre civilisation, mais elle ne la pénètre pas encore. On dit que l’esclavage a disparu de la civilisation européenne. C’est une erreur. Il existe toujours, mais il ne pèse plus que sur la femme, et il s’appelle prostitution.

The only things in the room that she felt any connection to were half a dozen flower postcards pinned to the wall above her desk. The red and white tulip by Judith Leyster. The vase of white lilac by Manet. The bowl of blowsy roses by Henri Fantin-Latour. The vase of tumbling blooms by Brueghel- lilies and tulips, fritillaries and daffodils, carnations and snowdrops, cornflowers and peonies and anemones. Those flowers had all died four hundred years ago, but that first week back at work, they planted a seed in Lara's heart.

¿En qué consiste la historia de Fantine? Es la sociedad comprando a una esclava. ¿A quién? A la miseria. Al hambre, al frío, al aislamiento, al abandono, a la indigencia. Mercado doloroso. Un alma por un trozo de pan. La miseria ofrece, la sociedad acepta. La santa ley de Cristo gobierna nuestra civilización, pero la civilización aún no se ha impregnado de ella. Dicen que la esclavitud ha desaparecido de la civilización europea. Es una equivocación. Sigue existiendo, pero ya sólo la soporta la mujer, y se llama prostitución.

No temamos nunca a los ladrones ni a los asesinos; éstos no son más que los peligros exteriores, los pequeños peligros. Temámonos a nosotros mismos. Los prejuicios: éstos son los ladrones más temibles; los vicios: éstos los asesinos. Los grandes peligros están dentro de nosotros.

about society buying itself a slave. Who from? From destitution. From hunger, from cold, from loneliness, from abandonment, from dire poverty. A painful bargain. A soul for a bit of bread. Destitution makes an offer, society gives the nod. The sacred law of Jesus Christ governs our civilization, but it has not yet managed to permeate it. They say slavery has vanished from European civilization. That is wrong. It still exists, but it now preys only on women, and it goes by the name of prostitution. It preys on women, meaning on grace, on weakness, on beauty, on the maternal. It is not the least of man’s shameful secrets. At the point we have reached in this doleful drama, there is nothing left of the Fantine of the past. In becoming trash she turned to marble. Whoever touches her feels cold. She wafts into view, she goes along with you yet knows nothing about you; she is the face of dishonor and severity. Life and the social order have had their final say. All that can happen has happened to her. She has felt everything, accepted everything, experienced everything, suffered everything, lost everything, cried over everything. She is resigned with a resignation that resembles indifference just as death resembles sleep. Nothing is too awful for her now. She fears nothing. Let the sky fall on her head, let the whole ocean crash over her! What does she care? She is a sponge already completely soaked. That, at least, is what she believes, but it is a mistake to imagine that you can exhaust fate or that you ever hit rock bottom—in anything. Alas! What are all these lives driven willy-nilly? Where are they going? Why are they like this? He who knows the answer to that, sees the darkness as a whole. He is alone. His name is God.

Ecclesiastes calls you All-powerful; the Maccabees call you Creator; the Epistle to the Ephesians calls you Liberty; Baruch calls you Immensity; the Psalms call you Wisdom and Truth; St. John calls you Light; the Book of Kings calls you Lord; Exodus calls you Providence; Leviticus, Holiness; Esdras, Justice; Creation calls you God; man calls you the Father; but Solomon calls you Mercy, and that is the fairest of all your names.

I congratulate you," said he, in the tone which one uses for a reprimand. "You did not vote for the death of the king, after all." The old member of the Convention did not appear to notice the bitter meaning underlying the words "after all." He replied. The smile had quite disappeared from his face. "Do not congratulate me too much, sir. I did vote for the death of the tyrant." It was the tone of austerity answering the tone of severity. "What do you mean to say?" resumed the Bishop. "I mean to say that man has a tyrant,--ignorance. I voted for the death of that tyrant. That tyrant engendered royalty, which is authority falsely understood, while science is authority rightly understood. Man should be governed only by science." "And conscience," added the Bishop. "It is the same thing. Conscience is the quantity of innate science which we have within us.

So far as Louis XVI. was concerned, I said `no.' I did not think that I had the right to kill a man; but I felt it my duty to exterminate evil. I voted the end of the tyrant, that is to say, the end of prostitution for woman, the end of slavery for man, the end of night for the child. In voting for the Republic, I voted for that. I voted for fraternity, concord, the dawn. I have aided in the overthrow of prejudices and errors. The crumbling away of prejudices and errors causes light. We have caused the fall of the old world, and the old world, that vase of miseries, has become, through its upsetting upon the human race, an urn of joy." "Mixed joy," said the Bishop. "You may say troubled joy, and to-day, after that fatal return of the past, which is called 1814, joy which has disappeared! Alas! The work was incomplete, I admit: we demolished the ancient regime in deeds; we were not able to suppress it entirely in ideas. To destroy abuses is not sufficient; customs must be modified. The mill is there no longer; the wind is still there." "You have demolished. It may be of use to demolish, but I distrust a demolition complicated with wrath." "Right has its wrath, Bishop; and the wrath of right is an element of progress. In any case, and in spite of whatever may be said, the French Revolution is the most important step of the human race since the advent of Christ. Incomplete, it may be, but sublime. It set free all the unknown social quantities; it softened spirits, it calmed, appeased, enlightened; it caused the waves of civilization to flow over the earth. It was a good thing. The French Revolution is the consecration of humanity.

Tant qu’on va et vient dans le pays natal, on s’imagine que ces rues vous sont indifférentes, que ces fenêtres, ces toits et ces portes ne vous sont de rien, que ces murs vous sont étrangers, que ces arbres sont les premiers arbres venus, que ces maisons où l’on n’entre pas vous sont inutiles, que ces pavés où l’on marche sont des pierres. Plus tard, quand on n’y est plus, on s’aperçoit que ces rues vous sont chères, que ces toits, ces fenêtres et ces portes vous manquent, que ces murailles vous sont nécessaires, que ces arbres sont vos bien-aimés, que ces maisons où l’on n’entrait pas on y entrait tous les jours, et qu’on a laissé de ses entrailles, de son sang et de son cœur dans ces pavés. Tous ces lieux qu’on ne voit plus, qu’on ne reverra jamais peut-être, et dont on a gardé l’image, prennent un charme douloureux, vous reviennent avec la mélancolie d’une apparition (...)

Freeing us from the obligation to get involved, fiction (and I would argue, memoirs...) allow us to enter wholeheartedly into the events described. We are as Keen puts it, in a 'safe zone'. These are not charity adverts crafted to manipulate our emotions with a view to making us take specific action. We do not have to watch our back or prepare out excuses in the thick of a story...And no one will judge us for failing to do any of these things, because the people and situations we have been reading about do not (or no longer exist). With the best will in the world, there is nothing we can do to change them- however much we might like to ...chuck Fantine a bob or two. We cannot even begin to try.

Which, if Tesla knew Fantine, she sounded like she was going to reach through the cosmos and pull out their intestines and use it for macrame.

What is the history of Fantine? It is society purchasing a slave. From whom? From misery From hunger, cold, isolation, destitution. A dolorous bargain. A soul for a morsel of bread. Misery offers; society accepts. The sacred law of Jesus Christ governs our civilization, but it does not, as yet, permeate it; it is said that slavery has disappeared from European civilization. This is a mistake.

He had died in silence as he had lived,’ wrote expedition photographer Mario Fantin, ‘almost tip-toeing out of life in order not to disturb the people in the tent next to him.’1

Il faut être mangeant ou mangé.

If the application of problem solving methodologies does not guarantee the problem being solved, we have a problem to solve.

There were no longer judges, lawyers, or gendarmes in the place, but only intent eyes and deeply troubled hearts. No man considered the part he might be called upon to play. The prosecutor forgot that he was there to prosecute, the presiding judge that he was there to pass sentence, the defender that he was there to defend. And, most strikingly, no question was raised, no legal authority invoked. It is the quality of awesome events that they seize upon the soul and make all men participants. Perhaps no one in that place was fully conscious of his own feelings, and certainly no one said to himself that he was witnessing the splendour of a great light; but all were dazzled by it.

Fantine was beautiful, without being too conscious of it. Those rare dreamers, mysterious priests of the beautiful who silently confront everything with perfection, would have caught a glimpse in this little working-woman, through the transparency of her Parisian grace, of the ancient sacred euphony. This daughter of the shadows was thoroughbred. She was beautiful in the two ways— style and rhythm. Style is the form of the ideal; rhythm is its movement. We have said that Fantine was joy; she was also modesty. To an observer who studied her attentively, that which breathed from her athwart all the intoxication of her age, the season, and her love affair, was an invincible expression of reserve and modesty. She remained a little astonished. This chaste astonishment is the shade of difference which separates Psyche from Venus. Fantine had the long, white, Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 221 fine fingers of the vestal virgin who stirs the ashes of the sacred fire with a golden pin. Although she would have refused nothing to Tholomyes, as we shall have more than ample opportunity to see, her face in repose was supremely virginal; a sort of serious and almost austere dignity suddenly overwhelmed her at certain times, and there was nothing more singular and disturbing than to see gayety become so suddenly extinct there, and meditation succeed to cheerfulness without any transition state. This sudden and sometimes severely accentuated gravity resembled the disdain of a goddess. Her brow, her nose, her chin, presented that equilibrium of outline which is quite distinct from equilibrium of proportion, and from which harmony of countenance results; in the very characteristic interval which separates the base of the nose from the upper lip, she had that imperceptible and charming fold, a mysterious sign of chastity, which makes Barberousse fall in love with a Diana found in the treasures of Iconia. Love is a fault; so be it. Fantine was innocence floating high over fault.