Quotes About Paris

Most of us are lucky to see Paris once in a lifetime. Make the most of it by doing as little as possible. Walk a little, get lost a bit, eat, catch a breakfast buzz, have a nap, try and have sex if you can, just not with a mime. Eat again. Lounge around drinking coffee. Maybe read a book. Drink some wine, walk around a bit more, eat, repeat. See? It's easy.

I have had, at a very good Paris brasserie, the misfortune to eat a single bad mussel, one treacherous little guy hidden among an otherwise impeccable group. It slammed me shut like a book, sent me crawling to the bathroom shitting like a mink, clutching my stomach and projectile vomiting. I prayed that night. For many hours. And, as you might assume, I'm the worst kind of atheist.

Men very skilful in unravelling such mysteries were sent to Paris, and the police of that capital entered upon the search with most praiseworthy zeal. But the number of life-preservers which had been sold altogether baffled them. It seemed that nothing was so common as that gentlemen should walk about with bludgeons in their pockets covered with leathern thongs.

That winter, however, was especially severe, and the cold of the last ten days of December was more felt, I think, in Paris than in any part of England. It may, indeed, be doubted whether there is any town in any country in which thoroughly bad weather is more afflicting than in the French capital. Snow and hail seem to be colder there, and fires certainly are less warm, than in London.

The King of France—the heir of so long a line of royalty—the King, who had discarded the vices of his predecessors, and proved himself the friend of the people, was to be incarcerated in the worst prison in Paris by the vote of that very Assembly which he had himself called into existence.

What was happening was a maniacal assault on the inhabitants of the Paris prisons, with some of the royal family's most beloved attendants still incarcerated in the La Force. These included the Marquise de Tourzel and Pauline-and that hate figure so often in obscene popular publications, the lesbian paramour of the "Infamous Antoinette", the Princesse de Lamballe.

Mr. Penfound's Two Burglars, Midnight at the Grand Babylon, The Police Station, The Adventure of the Prima Donna, The Episode in Room 222, Saturday to Monday, A Dinner at the Louvre

If one of us should die, then I shall move to Paris.

God bless you, little Kristin, I've been to Paris and traveled elsewhere in the world as well, and yet you mustn't think me any better for it, for I fear the Devil and love and desire this world like a fool.

At night I would climb the steps to the Sacre-Coeur, and I would watch Paris, that futile oasis, scintillating in the wilderness of space. I would weep, because it was so beautiful, and because it was so useless.

Er erzählte mir Geschichten, und vor allem ging er mit mir spazieren. Er zeigte mir Straßen und Plätze, Quais und Kanäle, die Friedhöfe, die Hafenplätze und Lagerhäuser, die unsicheren Viertel, die Kneipen - so viele Ecken von Paris, die ich nicht kannte.

there was also a celebrated official sculptor whose works disfigured the whole of Paris

But see here now! Do you actually mean to tell me, Fran, that you think that just moving from Zenith to Paris is going to change everything in your life and make you a kid again? Don't you realize that probably most people in Paris are about like most people here, or anywhere else?

Then he stepped out on the fretted iron balcony and looked to the right, to the Place de la Concorde and the beginning of the Champs Elysees, with the Chamber of Deputies across the Seine. He was suddenly stilled, and he perceived another Paris, stately, aloof, gray with history, eternally quiet at heart for all its superficial clamor.

the taxi-driver gave Sam his first welcome to America. Wherejuh wanna go? he growled. It shocked Sam to find how jarred he was by this demonstration of democracy. Like most Americans in Paris, he had been insisting that all French taxi-drivers were bandits, but now they seemed to him like playful and cuddling children.

Paris, that feminine and flirtatious refuge from reality.

everywhere I looked, Paris was an aesthetic banquet that fed my soul.

Paris had such a strong outer feminine identity, maybe it could help me build a new, more feminine one of my own. One that was as committed to my own grace and

believe that is the secret gift of Paris and the real reason it casts such a spell on people all over the world. It demands that you recognize and insist on the most beautiful version of life, inside and out. Like polishing a diamond, living in Paris casts off the shadow and forces your true light to shine. And the process hurts.

Café Philosophe on rue de Temple in the Marais

Paris finally woke me up from the poison apple spell that lifetimes of self-rejection had put me under, causing me to desperately search for authentic love

But... we'll always have Paris. I pause, thinking this through. At least, you'll have it. And you can tell me about it.

I was friends with Susan Sontag the last four years of her life. She had this amazing charisma and so much energy, but she had a sad little funeral in Montparnasse in Paris.

France is going to endure, and I'll tell you [ISIS people who attacked Paris ] why. If you're in a war of culture and lifestyle with France, good fucking luck, because go ahead, bring your bankrupt ideology. They'll bring Jean-Paul Sartre, Edith Piaf, fine wine, Camus, Camembert, madeleines, macarons, Marcel Proust and the fucking croquembouche. You just brought a philosophy of rigorous self-abnegation to a pastry fight, my friend. You are fucked.