Combeferre: At Notre Dame. The sections are prepared!
Feuilly: At Rue de Bac they're straining at the leash!
Courfeyrac: Students, workers, everyone! There's a river on the run. Like the flowing of the tide Paris coming to our side!
Enjolras: The time is near: so near it's stirring the blood in their veins! And yet beware: don't let the wine go to your brains!
. . . For the army we fight is a dangerous foe. With the men and the arms that we never can match Oh, it's easy to sit here and swat 'em like flies But the national guard will be harder to catch
. . . We need a sign: to rally the people, to call them to arms, to bring them in line!
. . . Marius, wake up!
Joly: What's wrong today? You look as if you've seen a ghost.
Grantaire: Some wine and say what's going on.
Marius: A ghost you say, a ghost maybe. She was just like a ghost to me. One minute there, and she was gone.
Grantaire: I am agog. I am aghast. Is Marius in love at last? I have never seen him 'ooh' and 'aah'.
. . . You talk of battles to be won, but here he comes like don Ju-an. It's better than an o-per-a!
Enjolras: It is time for us all to decide who we are. Do we fight for the right to a night at the opera now? Have you asked of yourselves what's the price you might pay? Is it simply a game for rich young boys to play? The color of the world is changing day by day.
. . . Red: the blood of angry men. Black: the dark of ages past. Red: a world about to dawn. Black: the night that ends at last.
Marius: Had you been there tonight you might know how it feels, to be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight.
. . . Had you been there tonight you might also have known, how the world may be changed in just one burst of light, and what was right seems wrong and what was wrong seems right.
Marius: I feel my soul on fire.
Marius: My world if she's not there.
Marius: The color of desire.
Marius: The color of despair.
Enjolras: Marius, you're no longer a child. I do not doubt you mean it well but now there is a higher call. Who cares about your lonely soul, we strive toward a larger goal. Our little lives don't count at all.
Red: the blood of angry men. Black: the dark of ages past. Red: a world about to dawn. Black: the night that ends at last.