Victor Hugo Quotes

I am about as detailed as a shadow.

In the theater, everything is ephemeral. Everything is almost weightless and without a very clear definition of how you made it.

Love is a quicksilver word; though you see plainly where it is, you have only to put your finger on it to find that it is not there but someplace else.

Swift as shadow, short as any dream

A dream itself is but a shadow.

I'm everywhere, baby, I'm everywhere. And I'm nowhere, I'm like a ghost.

Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.

Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!

Hope is a delusion; no hand can grasp a wave or a shadow.

It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt, It lies behind stars and under hills, And empty holes it fills, It comes first and follows after, Ends life, kills laughter.

You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream

I am almost equal to a shadow.

… where they will vanish in the night and fog.

Sometimes you feel you have the truth of a moment in your hand, then it slips through your fingers and is lost.

Dreams rise like the sun and set like the sun: One minute, it is high and bright; the next minute, you might lose it.

I'm one of those people who's always changing. There's nothing wrong with it but it means I am a hard person to hold onto, I guess.

The more you know about Bob Dylan, the less you know. A truly enigmatic artist, Mr. Dylan's work and life offer vaporous handholds, explanations, and instructions. Attempt to grasp them, and they will only dissipate and re-form into another contexture or idea.

the most deeply moving element in the contemplation of beauty is the element of loss. We desire to hold; but the sunset melts into the night, and the secret of the painting on the wall can never be the secret of the buyer.

Fancies are like shadows...you can't cage them, they're such wayward, dancing things.

Winged time glides on insensibly, and deceive us; and there is nothing more fleeting than years.

For our part, when we feel, we evaporate; ah, we breathe ourselves out and away; with each new heartfire we give off a fainter scent. True, someone may tell us: you're in my blood, this room, Spring itself is filled with you . . . To what end? He can't hold us, we vanish within him and around him.

I read somewhere that happiness is like the bluebird of Maeterlinck: Try to catch it and it loses its color. It's like trying to hold water in your hands. The more you squeeze it, the more the water runs away.

What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!

Here at last is her smile: burn it into your memory; you won't see it often.

The end of all is death and man's life passeth away suddenly as a shadow.