Gentlemen of the human race, I say to hell with the lot of you.

Nobody loves the light like the blind man.

I'm not totally useless. I can be used as a bad example.

Relegated as he was to a corner and as though sheltered behind the billiard table, the soldiers, their eyes fixed upon Enjolras, had not even noticed Grantaire, and the sergeant was preparing to repeat the order: 'Take aim!' when suddenly they heard a powerful voice cry out beside them, 'Vive la Republique! Count me in.'
Grantaire was on his feet.
The immense glare of the whole combat he had missed and in which he had not been, appeared in the flashing eyes of the transfigured drunkard.
He repeated, 'Vive la Republique!' crossed the room firmly, and took his place in front of the muskets beside Enjolras.
'Two at one shot,' he said.
And, turning toward Enjolras gently, he said to him, 'Will you permit it?'
Enjolras shook his hand with a smile.
The smile had not finished before the report was heard.
Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained backed up against the wall is if the bullets had nailed him there. Except that his head was tilted.
Grantaire, struck down, collapsed at his feet.

I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.

Grantaire, earthbound in doubt, loved to watch Enjolras soaring in the upper air of faith. He needed Enjolras. Without being fully aware of it, or seeking to account for it himself, he was charmed by that chaste, upright, inflexible and candid nature.