Her entire person was simplicity, ingenuousness, whiteness, candor, and radiance, and it might have been said of her that she was transparent.  She produced a sensation of April and daybreak, and she had dew in her eyes.  She was the condensation of the light of dawn in a woman’s form.—­Les Miserables.

     The woman was weak, but the mother found strength.—­Ninety-Three.

     Woman feels and speaks with the infallibility which is the tender
     instinct of the heart.—­Les Miserables.

     What is a husband but the pilot in the voyage of matrimony?  Wife,
     let your fine weather be your husband’s smiles.—­Toilers of the
     Sea.

     No one knows like a woman how to say things which are at once
     gentle and deep.  Gentleness and depth,—­in these things the whole
     of woman is contained, and it is heaven.—­Les Miserables.

Beauty heightened by simplicity is ineffable, and nothing is so adorable as a beauteous, innocent maiden, who walks along unconsciously, holding in her hand the key of Paradise.—­Les Miserables.

She had the prettiest little hands in the world, and little feet to match them.  Sweetness and goodness reigned throughout her person; ... her occupation was only to live her daily life; her accomplishments were the knowledge of a few songs; her intellectual gifts were summed up in her simple innocence.—­Toilers of the Sea.

     The coquette is blind:  she does not see her wrinkles.—­By Order of
     the King.

     A mother’s arms are made of tenderness, and children sleep soundly
     in them.—­Les Miserables.

     There are moments when a woman accepts, like a sombre and resigned
     duty, the worship of love.—­Les Miserables.

     She was pale with that paleness which is like the transparency of a
     divine life in an earthly face....  A soul standing in the
     dawn.—­By Order of the King.

He looked at her, and saw nothing but her.  This is love; one may be carried away for a moment by the importunity of some other idea, but the beloved one enters, and all that does not appertain to her presence immediately fades away, without her dreaming that perhaps she is effacing in us a world.—­By Order of the King.

She walked on with a light and free step, so little suggestive of the burden of life that it might easily be seen that she was young.  Her movements possessed that subtle grace which indicates the most delicate of all transitions—­the soft intermingling, as it-were, of two twilights,—­the passage from the condition of a child to that of womanhood.—­Toilers of the Sea.

She had never been pretty, but her whole life, which had been but a succession of pious works, had eventually cast over her a species