I advance in life, I grow more simple, and I become more and more patriotic for humanity. - Victor Hugo

The soul gropes in search of a soul, and finds it. And that soul, found and proven, is a woman. A hand sustains you, it is hers; lips lightly touch your forehead, they are her lips; you hear breathing near you, it is she. To have her wholly, from her devotion to her pity, never to be left alone, to have that sweet shyness as, to lean on that unbending reed, to touch, Providence with your hands and be able to grasp it in your arms; God made palpable, what transport! The heart, that dark celestial flower, bursts into a mysterious bloom. You would not give up that shade for all the light in the world! The angel soul is there, forever there; if she goes away, it is only to return; she fades away in a dream and reappears in reality. You feel an approaching warmth, she is there. You overflow with serenity, gaiety, and ecstasy; you are radiant in your darkness. And the thousand little cares! The trifles that are enormous in this void. The most ineffable accents of the womanly voice used to comfort you, and replacing for you the vanished universe! You are caressed through the soul. You see nothing but you feel yourself adored. It is paradise of darkness.

A writer is a world trapped in a person.

Don't you recognize me?'
'No.'
'Eponine.'
Marius bent hastily forward and saw that it was indeed that unhappy girl, clad in a man's clothes.
'How do you come to be here? What are you doing?'
'I'm dying,' she said.
There are words and happenings which arouse even souls in the depths of despair. Marius cried, as though starting out of sleep:
'You're wounded! I'll carry you into the tavern. They'll dress your wound. Is it very bad? How am I to lift you without hurting you? Help, someone! But what are you doing here?'
He tried to get an arm underneath her to raise her up, and in doing so touched her hand. She uttered a weak cry.
'Did I hurt you?'
'A little.'
'But I only touched your hand.'
She lifted her hand for him to see, and he saw a hole in the centre of the palm.
'What happened?' he asked.
'A bullet went through it.'
'A bullet? But how?'
'Don't you remember a musket being aimed at you?'
'Yes, and a hand was clapped over it.'
'That was mine.'
Marius shuddered.
'What madness! Your poor child! Still, if that's all, it might be worse. I'll get you to a bed and they'll bind you up. One doesn't die of a wounded hand.'
She murmured:
'The ball passed through my hand, but it came out through my back. It's no use trying to move me. I'll tell you how you can treat my wound better than any surgeon. Sit down on that stone, close beside me.'
Marius did so. She rested her head on his knee and said without looking at him:
'Oh, what happiness! What bliss! Now I don't feel any pain.