Your Morning Hugo
For Friday, December 20th, 2024
Week 92 of our regular morning feature here at Friedman of the Plains Worldwide in which we highlight the great words and works of great men and women, as well as those who are insufferable, delusional, and even fictional.
This Week Victor Hugo
“He was there alone with himself, collected, tranquil, adoring, comparing the serenity of his heart with the serenity of the skies, moved in the darkness by the visible splendors of the constellations, and the invisible splendor of God, opening his soul to the thoughts which fall from the Unknown. In such moments, offering up his heart at the hour when the flowers of night inhale their perfume, lighted like a lamp in the center of the starry night, expanding his soul in ecstasy in the midst of the universal radiance of creation, he could not himself perhaps have told what was passing in his own mind; he felt something depart from him, and something descend upon him, mysterious interchanges of the depths of the soul with the depths of the universe.” — Les Misérables
Probably, absent reference to Gawd, one of the top ten descriptions of true communion/contemplation that I have ever read.
Nature does that for me. YMMV
And Monsieur Hugo looks like any one of countless petit bourgeoisie. "A book and it's cover, eh?"
Long before Baba Ram Dass and Be Here Now. However, does one really have to recreate the universe in our own image by appending a deity in order to enjoy it?