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Updated: May 24, 2025
Having composed more verses than any man that ever lived, Hugo can only be taken in the smallest doses; if you repeat any passage to a friend across a café table, you are both appalled by the splendour of the imagery, by the thunder of the syllables. "Quel dieu, quel moissonneur de l'éternel été Avait en s'en allant négligemment jeté Cette faucille d'or dans les champs des étoiles."
Having composed more verses than any man that ever lived, Hugo can only be taken in the smallest doses; if you repeat any passage to a friend across a café table, you are both appalled by the splendour of the imagery, by the thunder of the syllables. "Quel dieu, quel moissonneur dans l'éternel été Avait s'en allant négligemment jeté Cette faucille d'or dans les champs des étoiles."
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