She had listened to nothing, but mothers hear certain things without listening.—Ninety-Three.
She was really a respectable, firm, equitable, and just person, full of that charity which consists in giving, but not possessing to the same extent the charity which comprehends and pardons.—Les Misérables.
She seemed a vision scarcely embodied; … in her fairness, which amounted almost to serenity of her look; … in the sacred innocence of her smile, she was almost an angel, and yet just a woman.—By Order of the King.
The girl becomes a maiden, fresh and joyous as the lark. Noting her movements, we feel as if it were good of her not to fly away. The dear familiar companion moves at her own sweet will about the house; flits from branch to branch, or rather from room to room; goes to and fro; approaches and retires…. She asks a question and is answered; is asked something in return, and chirps a reply. It is delightful to chat with her when tired of serious talk; for this creature carries with her something of her skyey element. She is, as it were, a thread of gold interwoven with your sombre thoughts; you feel almost grateful to her for her kindness in not making herself invisible, when it would be so easy for her to be even impalpable; for the beautiful is a necessity of life. There is in the world no function more important than that of being charming…. To shed joy around, to radiate happiness, to cast light upon dark days, to be the golden thread of our destiny, and the very spirit of grace and harmony, is not this to render a service?—Toilers of the Sea.
She scarcely knew, perhaps, the meaning of the word love, and yet not unwillingly ensnared those about her in the toils.—Toilers of the Sea.
She stopped. She walked back a few paces, stopped again; she inclined her head, with those thoughtful eyes which look attentive yet see nothing…. Her lowered eyelids had that vague contraction which suggests a tear checked in its course, or a thought suppressed…. Her face, which might inspire adoration, seemed meditative, like portraits of the Virgin.—Toilers of the Sea.
She broke the bread into two fragments, and gave them to the children, who ate with avidity. "She has kept none for herself," grumbled the sergeant. "Because she is not hungry," said a soldier. "Because she is a mother," said the sergeant.—Ninety-Three.
Extreme simplicity touches on extreme coquetry…. They did not speak, they did not bow, they did not know each other, but they met; and like the stars in the heavens, they lived by looking at each other. It was thus that she gradually became a woman, and was developed into a beautiful and loving woman, conscious of her beauty and ignorant of her love. She was a coquette into the bargain, through her innocence.—Les Misérables.
Does not beauty confer a benefit upon us, even by the simple fact of being beautiful?—Here and there we meet with one who possesses that fairy-like power of enchanting all about her; sometimes she is ignorant herself of this magical influence, which is, however, for that reason only the more perfect. Her presence lights up the home; her approach is like cheerful warmth; she passes by, and we are content; she stays awhile, and we are happy.—Toilers of the Sea.
To behold her is to live; she is the Aurora with a human face. She has no need to do more than simply to be, she makes an Eden of the house; Paradise breathes from her: and she communicates this delight to all, without taking any greater trouble than that of existing beside them. Is it not a thing divine to have a smile which, none know how, has the power to lighten the weight of that enormous chain which all the living, in common, drag behind them?—Toilers of the Sea.