Book: Notre Dame Cathedral. Page 2

If you need to paganity, we have among other stuff great stone God the father that we stole in the Church of Saint Pierre-AUX-Boeuf. At your disposal four minutes to force my heart to him.

It was a new world, unseen, unheard, ugly, crawling, implausible.

In short, he found himself in a huge dressing area, and where at that time dressed and undressed all actors immortal Comedy that robbery, prostitution and murder play on the streets of Paris.

In this city, as in the pandemonium seemed to have erased all species and racial boundaries.

Her fires were burning, and around the fires swarmed with strange bunch of people.

More than an hour, not poshevalova, he sat so, gazing on the deserted cell, more gloomy and zadumchivoe mother sitting empty between the cradle and the coffin of her child.

It is doubtful that in all the universe there was anything more gratifying to the feelings which awake in a mother's heart at the sight of the tiny Shoe of her child.

The anger of people, similar Feb similar to milk soup: a drop of cold water to stop it boiling.

The hell where you, my Paradise!

I always miss the occasion to be hanged. It is my fate.

I have the good fortune to spend time from morning to evening in the society of a man of genius, that is, with himself, and it is very nice.

Oh, with what pleasure I drowned would not be water so cold!

There is regret as appropriate, as the feather in the ass of a pig.

Create before the eyes mine, was so superhuman is fine, that could be only heaven or hell. She was not an ordinary girl, created from the dust of the earth, and poorly lit from within shimmering ray of the human soul. It was an angel! But the angel of darkness, woven from flame, not of light.