Book: Notre Dame Cathedral. Page 5

The goat ran skipping behind them; she was so happy in meeting a Girl that constantly poked him with horns on his knees, forcing the poet to lose balance.
- This is the life! said the philosopher, every time stumbled. - Often the best friends we substitute the leg!

But every bad idea is clamoring for their implementation. And what I thought of as Almighty, the rock was stronger than me. Alas! This rock possessed you and threw you under the terrible wheels of the machine, which I artfully made!

- Oh girl, have mercy on me! - continued the priest. - You think you're miserable! Alas! You do not know what misfortune! Oh! To love a woman! To be a priest. To be hated! Love her to the depths, to feel the shadow of her smile you would give your blood, your soul, your good name, your salvation, immortality, eternity, earthly life and the afterlife; regret that you're no king, no genius, not the Emperor, not the Archangel, not God, to plunge to her feet greatest of the slave; day and night to nurture her in their dreams, in their thoughts - and to see that she is in love with a soldier uniform! And not have anything in return, except a bad priest robe, which causes her fear and disgust! Exhausted from jealousy and rage, to be a witness of how she lavishes cheesy, slow-witted bouncer treasures of his love and beauty. To see this body, whose form the harness, this chest, so beautiful, this skin tremble and turn pink under the kisses of another! Oh heavens! To love her foot, her pen, her shoulders; tormented all night on the stone floor of the cells, painful dream of her blue veins, of her brown skin - and to see that all the affection that you wanted to give her was torture, what did you just lay it on the leather bed! Oh, this is truly a pliers, heated in the flames of hell!

What I saw, and saw more than just me, and yet the sight of it was not created for the human eye. There, in the middle of the square, it was noon, the sun was high, - dancing girl. The creation of such wondrous beauty that God would have preferred her to the virgin and would be chosen by a mother to her, he would have wished to be born from her, if she had lived, when he was incarnated into a human! She had shiny black eyes, her dark hair when they penetrated the sun lit up the Golden thread. In a swift dance you could not see her legs - they flashed like the spokes of a wheel spinning. Around the head, her black braids shone in the sun metal badges like the starry crown overshadowed her forehead. Her blue dress, dotted with sequins, sparkled, as if laced with a myriad of Golden dots summer night. Her slender brown hands were intertwined and were again undone around her waist, like two of the scarf. The lines of her body were wonderfully beautiful! About shining image whose radiance is not faded even in the sun! Girl, that was you! Dazed, intoxicated, charmed, I gave myself the will to look at you. I have so far looked at you, until suddenly did not flinch from the horror I felt under the spell!

Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers, you lie!
He who in this moment would see the outbreak the captain's face, his rapid jump back, to liberate it from the clutches in which he caught the haughty look with which he grabbed the hilt of his sword, who would have seen opposing this fury deathly stillness of the man in the cloak, he shuddered from horror. It was like the fight of don Juan with the statue of the Commendatore.

And you, you are a ray of sunshine, you are a drop of dew, you are the song birds.

My body, my soul, my blood, I am all yours.

- And do you know what friendship is?
Yes. It means to be brother and sister; two souls which touch without merging; it's two fingers of one hand.
- But love?
Oh, love! Love is when two are one. When a man and a woman turning into an angel. This is the heaven!

About as attractive as first rampant and disgusting its downside.
(As an attractive debauchery and disgusting as its seamy side)

Strong despair, and great joy, can not long continue.

Mother who lost her child, time does not bring oblivion. Such grief does not grow old. Mourning wear, the heart remains dark.

One drop will be enough wine to stain a glass of water, and to spoil mood to the whole Assembly of pretty women, enough women appearance even more pretty, especially when the society is male.

Because children-our - brain of our bones.

Even the old girl is a young mother.