Quotes About City

A breath of Paris preserves the soul.

If you ask the great city, 'Who is this person?,' she will answer, 'He is my child.

Respirer Paris, cela conserve l'âme.

If one could only get out of a grief as one gets out of a city!

To breathe Paris is to preserve one's soul.

Fex urbis, lex orbis (The dregs of the city, the law of the earth), from Les Miserables, attributed to St. Jerome

To breath the air of Paris preserves the soul.

To err his human, to stroll is Parisian.

The cities make ferocious men because they may corrupt man. The mountain, the sea, the forest, make savage men; they development fierce side, but often without destroying the humane side.

What are the convulsions of a city compared to the emeutes of the soul? Man is a depth still more profound than the people.

What are the convulsions of a city compared with the riots of the soul? Man is a depth still more profound than the people.

What are the convulsions of a city in comparison with the insurrections of the soul? Man is a depth still greater than the people.

étudier à Paris, c'est naître à Paris.

He sauntered. To stray is human. To saunter is Parisian. In

There occurred, infamous to relate, inundations of the sewer. At times, that stomach of civilization digested badly, the cess-pool flowed back into the throat of the city, and Paris got an after-taste of her own filth. These resemblances of the sewer to remorse had their good points; they were warnings; very badly accepted, however; the city waxed indignant at the audacity of its mire, and did not admit that the filth should return. Drive it out better.

As cidades produzem homens ferozes, porque produzem homens corruptos.

Qué son las convulsiones de una ciudad al lado de los motines del alma? El hombre es más profundo que el pueblo.

New York was a city that showed off its greatness, sought to make tourists look at man's accomplishments with awe. D.C. knew that man's greatness lay not in stone and steel, but rather in ideas and decisions.

I had forgotten how gently time passes in Paris. As lively as the city is, there's a stillness to it, a peace that lures you in. In Paris, with a glass of wine in your hand, you can just be.

The street was a living, breathing dragon of humanity, inching forward, wheezing dirt, honking horns; people yelling for help, babies crying, and the smell of sweat heavy in the air.

Paris," Vianne said, trying to find comfort in the familiar

Había olvidado lo dulcemente que transcurre el tiempo en París.

I unlocked the door of my apartment, where the only movement, while I was gone, had been the light moving across the walls from the morning to evening and a scuttling roach or two, and the air inside smelled of loneliness. The ache got eased a little the next day, after I'd picked up my dog from my sister, gotten sucked back into the slipstream of the city. But only a little. And soon it spread, until the word home could make me cry. I wanted one.

You're—personally responsible for The entire strip to be washed away Cleansed, as if gallons of, um, rubbing alcohol Flowed through the strip and were set on fire It didn't just singe the hair, it made it straight And then Perry Ellis came along with his broom And his silk And he— He erected a beautiful city A city of stars