Quotes About Paris

Bom ou mau, aquilo que sai da Paris é Paris, seja uma carta, um pedaço de pão, um par de sapatos ou um poema.

A cidade, efectivamente, sorri apenas àqueles que se aproximam dela e que deambulam pelas suas ruas; a esses, ela fala numa linguagem tranquilizadora e familiar, mas a alma de Paris só se revela de longe e do alto, e é no silêncio do céu que se escuta o imenso grito patético de orgulho e de fé que ela eleva na direcção das nuvens.

I am the road running through Paris," says the Seine. 'I have carried off many images since you were a child and reflected many clouds. I am changeable, but as people are: I have my moments of happiness in the June dawn and my sinister times some December evenings. Above all I am inquisitive - you call it being in flood. We have something in common, you everlasting passers-by and I, the fleeing water, which is that we never go back: your time is my space.

S? they had begun to walk about in a fabulous Paris, letting themselves be guided by the nighttime signs, following routes born of a clochard phrase, of an attic lit up in the darkness of a street's end, stopping in little confidential squares to kiss on the benches or look at the hopscotch game, those childish rites of a pebble and a hop on one leg to get into Heaven, Home.

En París todo le era Buenos Aires y viceversa; en lo más ahincado del amor padecía y acataba la pérdida y el olvido.

París es una enorme metáfora.

Así habían empezado a andar por un París fabuloso, dejándose llevar por los signos de la noche,....deteniéndose en las placitas confidenciales para besarse en los bancos o mirar las rayuelas, los ritos infantiles del guijarro y el salto sobre un pie para entrar en el Cielo.

yo quisiera verlos quietos, verlos a mis pies y quietos –un poco el sueño de todo dios, Andrée, el sueño nunca cumplido de los dioses–, Carta a una señorita en París.

acele doua puncte pierdute in Paris care merg in sus si-n jos, in jos si-n sus, faurindu-si desenul, dansand pentru nimeni, nici macar pentru ele insele, o nesfarsita figura fara rost.

In early July 1944, at the same time as Catherine was arrested in Paris, the hilltop villages of Callian and Montauroux were surrounded by the Germans and searched, house by house, resulting in fifteen members of the Resistance being captured, interrogated and imprisoned.

Vincenzo stole the Mona Lisa from the Louvre museum in Paris on 21 August 1911,

By any reckoning, the twenty-day march from Antibes to Paris was one of the high points in his life. As Balzac later wrote incredulously: 'Before him did ever a man gain an Empire simply by showing his hat?

The American arrives in Paris with a few French phrases he has culled from a conversational guide or picked up from a friend who owns a beret.

It is cold at six-forty in the morning on a March day in Paris, and seems even colder when a man is about to be executed by firing squad.

An artist has no home in Europe except in Paris.

There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it.

Indeed, one is tempted to say that these twin churches, Paris and Mantes, are the only French churches of the time (1200) which were left without a fleche. As we go from Mantes to Paris, we pass, about half-way, at Poissy, under the towers of a very ancient and interesting church which has the additional merit of having witnessed the baptism of Saint Louis in 1215.

We worship not the Graces, nor the Parcae, but Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head monkey at Paris puts on a traveller's cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same. I

Night came on, the lamps were lighted, the tables near him found occupants, and Paris began to wear that peculiar evening look of hers which seems to say, in the flare of windows and theatre-doors, and the muffled rumble of swift-rolling carriages, that this is no world for you unless you have your pockets lined and your scruples drugged.

In Paris such debts are tacit.

Paris is like a whore. From a distance she seems ravishing, you can't wait until you have her in your arms. And five minutes later you feel empty, disgusted with yourself. You feel tricked.

It is now the fall of my second year in Paris. I was sent here for a reason I have not yet been able to fathom. I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, i thought I was an artist. I no longer think about it. I am. There are no more books to be written, thank God.

Such a healthy, simple, approving glance as if he were saying to himself: "Ah, spring is coming!" And God knows, when spring comes to Paris the humblest mortal alive must feel that he dwells in paradise.

I have never seen a place like Paris for varieties of sexual provender. as soon as a woman loses a front tooth or an eye or a leg she goes on the lose. In America she'd starve to death if she had nothing to recommend her but a mutilation. Here it is different. A missing tooth or a nose eaten away or a fallen womb, any misfortune that aggravates the natural homeliness of the female, seems to be regarded as an added spice, a stimulant for the jaded appetites of the male.