Quotes About Provence

Provence, just one relatively small part of France, is almost twice the size of Wales, with double the population. It's a region of the south that stretches from the borders of Monaco and Italy in the east to Hyeres in the west, the Alps in the north to the sparkling Mediterranean in the south.

He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world, no one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.

une couche douce tapissée de thym sec

Some three years ago I drove down to Provence to spend a summer weekend with a lady who was interesting to me simply because she possessed an extraordinarily powerful muscle in a region where other women have no muscles at all.

In a month's time, I shall be able to give your Majesty news of the Comtesse de Provence, for the marriage is fixed for May 14th; they had prepared many fetes for this marriage, but now they are economising in them for want of money.

Property in Provence can cost a fortune if you don't know where to look and a glass of champagne sipped on the pristine whitewashed terrace of one of the seafront hotels in Cannes can set you back the price of a meal in any other establishment.

Aioli intoxicates gently, fills the body with warmth, and the soul with enthusiasm. In its essence it concentrates the strength, the gaiety of Provence: sunshine.

From time to time we shall get up and go to the door and look out at the great moon and say: 'Why, it is nearly as bright as in Provence!' And then we shall come back to the fireside, with just the touch of a sigh because we are not in that Provence where even the saddest stories are gay.

It is the circuit of the great ruinous deed when the name of the seventh is that of the fifth; when the third, even greater, the warlike stranger will take Paris, nor will Provence save her.

Provence has become a moveable feast. To the south is the glittering Mediterranean; to the north are the Alps, while to the west and east the margins are fuzzy and seem to expand further with each passing year.

Provence off the beaten track offers silence, stillness, sweet scents, eagles, chestnuts, endless avenues shaded by plane trees, fabulous walking, cycle tracks and beaches to die for.

My plat de resistance is potato salad with garlic and olive oil which we press from the olives from my trees in the grounds of my home near St Remy de Provence. I have four hectares and take the olives down to the local community press at Maussane les Alpilles. I don't produce big quantities; it is just for the family and friends.

As I drove westwards along the A8, the purple hills of the Massif des Maures were rising towards a clear bluebell sky. Cradled within the Var between Frejus and Hyeres lies a bewitching hinterland, a low mountain range known in Provencal as Lei Mauro: the Sombre Ones.

I started work on my first French history book in 1969; on 'Socialism in Provence' in 1974; and on the essays in Marxism and the French Left in 1978. Conversely, my first non-academic publication, a review in the 'TLS', did not come until the late 1980s, and it was not until 1993 that I published my first piece in the 'New York Review.'

For many of us, lavender's deep colour and its unforgettable fragrance encapsulate the heady joys of Provence.

south of France, where he embraced the sunny, light cuisine of Provence—as bright as a Van Gogh sunflower.

Virtue, my pet, is an abstract idea, varying in its manifestations with the surroundings. Virtue in Provence, in Constantinople, in London, and in Paris bears very different fruit, but is none the less virtue.

The people of Provence greeted spring with uncharacteristic briskness, as if nature had given everyone an injection of sap.

La Closerie, in Ansouis.

Sunday has a calming influence on the French motorist.... Tomorrow he will take up the mantle of the kamikaze pilot once again, but today it is Sunday in Provence, and life it to be enjoyed.

Half-familiar sounds could be dimly recognized as words through the swirls and eddies of Provençal: demain became demang, vin became vang, maison became mesong.

Je suis né dans la ville d'Aubagne, sous le Garlaban couronné de chèvres, au temps des derniers chevriers.

cuisse de grenouilles provençale.