“Marius’ amours!” exclaimed Grantaire. “I see them now. Marius is a fog, and he must have found a vapor. Marius is of the poets’ race. He who says poet says fool. Tymbraeus Apollo. Marius and his Mary, or his Maria, or his Marietta, or his Marion, they must make odd lovers. I can imagine how it is. Ecstasies where they forgot to kiss. Chaste on Earth, but coupling in the infinite. They are souls that have senses. They sleep together in the stars. [volume xv, book xii]
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