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When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age. Options
Daemon
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 12:00:00 AM
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When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age.

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
Pieter_Hove
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 1:21:58 AM

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Long live life!
KSPavan
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 2:30:27 AM

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Quotation of the Day

When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age.

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
draoubelkacem
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 3:07:12 AM

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this is especially true with an acceptable state of health and an environment that cares for him (children and grandchildren)
draoubelkacem
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 3:07:44 AM

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draoubelkacem wrote:
this is especially true with an acceptable state of health and an environment that cares for him (children and grandchildren)
Bully_rus
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 5:57:07 AM
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Daemon wrote:
When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age.

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)


Yeah. Why the most important things in life are unspeakable? Is there purpose behind this specificity? Sorry for the last word, it's a lack of grace, I guess.
Adyl Mouhei
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 6:33:56 AM

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What a picturesque speech! Victor Hugo is one of those great men who can educate us to feel and see things that others just ignore or think they are not worthy of any credit.
C185445
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 6:57:41 AM

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I agree with you Victor Hugo but I hope it takes its time before I get such wrinkles. :p
monamagda
Posted: Monday, December 24, 2018 7:04:53 PM

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Context from: Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

Volume 5

Book Fifth

Chapter 2


At each succeeding phase of improvement, which became more and more pronounced, the grandfather raved. He executed a multitude of mechanical actions full of joy; he ascended and descended the stairs, without knowing why. A pretty female neighbor was amazed one morning at receiving a big bouquet; it was M. Gillenormand who had sent it to her. The husband made a jealous scene. M. Gillenormand tried to draw Nicolette upon his knees. He called Marius, "M. le Baron." He shouted: "Long live the Republic!"

Every moment, he kept asking the doctor: "Is he no longer in danger?" He gazed upon Marius with the eyes of a grandmother. He brooded over him while he ate. He no longer knew himself, he no longer rendered himself an account of himself. Marius was the master of the house, there was abdication in his joy, he was the grandson of his grandson.

In the state of joy in which he then was, he was the most venerable of children. In his fear lest he might fatigue or annoy the convalescent, he stepped behind him to smile. He was content, joyous, delighted, charming, young. His white locks added a gentle majesty to the gay radiance of his visage. When grace is mingled with wrinkles, it is adorable. There is an indescribable aurora in beaming old age.

As for Marius, as he allowed them to dress his wounds and care for him, he had but one fixed idea: Cosette.

After the fever and delirium had left him, he did not again pronounce her name, and it might have been supposed that he no longer thought of her. He held his peace, precisely because his soul was there.

Read more: https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Les_Mis%C3%A9rables/Volume_5/Book_Fifth/Chapter_2

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