Quotes About French

I refuse to give into the sad reflex of French envy because this envy paralyzes our country.

Don't know much about history, don't know much biology, don't know much about a science book, don't know much about the French I took.

We are told of the honor of the army; we are supposed to love and respect it. Ah, yes, of course, an army that would rise to the first threat, that would defend French soil, that army is the nation itself, and for that army we have nothing but devotion and respect. But this is not about that army, whose dignity we are seeking, in our cry for justice. What is at stake is the sword, the master that will one day, perhaps, be forced upon us. Bow and scrape before that sword, that god? No!

The real national dish of the French right now-the cheap available food-is couscous. But North African cooking remains segregated in couscous parlours and has not been brought into the main current. A fossilised metropolitan tradition, yet what took its place was a sentimental nationalism.

Thousands of refugees who had fled across the Congo River to escape Leopold's regime eventually fled back to escape the French. The

The Grand Conspiracy, a Devil-substitute for an age that was too grown-up to believe in the horned version, had been born. 'There is something satanic about the French Revolution that distinguishes it from everything we have known, and perhaps from everything we will ever witness

My question was:How did I go from merely seeing the dirty French Santa in a bar to being in his hotel room the next morning? And this presented me with an actual equation. How did one plus one equal old French Santa?

Yorktown, where friendly French soldiers and sailors had outnumbered American ground troops more than two to one.

This land, like so much of the French countryside, was a painting, but Mercier felt his heart touched with melancholy and realized, not for the first time, that beautiful places were hard on lonely people.

It's quite a famous story that takes place on Christmas Eve, and the Germans, French, and Scottish are trying to make peace one night and they bury their dead and they play football. I play a German opera singer, in German, which I never have so I am really excited about that.

Bush's "the French have no word for entrepreneur" is guaranteed immortality.

I'm telling you of French nights at the moment," the doctor went on, "and why we all go into them. The night and the day are two travels, and the French - gut-greedy and fist-tight though they often are - alone leave testimony of the two in the dawn; we tear up the one for the sake of the other; not so the French.

French winegrowers faced the agonizing prospect of trying to get their harvest in before vineyards were turned into battlefields.

In # France we have a saying, 'Joie de Vivre,' which actually doesn't exist in the English language. It means looking at your life as something that is to be taken with great pleasure and enjoy it.

I'm gonna master it just like I mastered the other kind of French." He winks at me. Kitty and I both scream at him for that. "Don't talk like that in front of my sister!" I yell, shoving him in the chest. "I was kidding!" "Also, you're not that good at French kissing." Even though, yeah, he is. Peter gives me a Who are you kidding? look, and I shrug, because who am I kidding?

Halfway through class he sends me a note. He's drawn spiderwebs around the edges. It says, I'll be on time tomorrow. I smile as I read it. Then I put it in my backpack, in my French textbook so the page won't crease or crumble. I want to keep it so when this is over, I can have something to look at and remember what it was like to be Peter Kavinsky's girlfriend. Even if it was all just pretend.

If only they were French, the wife thinks. This would all feel different

So—a French garden, as far as I can tell, is a garden that gets tended. You know, my aunt, she walks around it slowly and bends down now and then to pull up some shit, or to stick some other stuff in somewhere. That's a French garden. An English garden is something that used to be a French garden but that no one does anything to anymore. So, it looks run-down. Things don't grow in proper lines. This is what they tell me. My

Travels with Charley, which Lori was devouring. John Steinbeck's tale of road-tripping in a pickup camper with his French poodle was popular among the nomads, and dog-eared copies passed from hand to hand.

Even now certain of its formations were being moved off to the west, where the French and British, much to our surprise, had looked idly on as their Polish ally was being annihilated.

The city's legions of working men disagreed. They always had counted Harrison as one of their own, "Our Carter," even though he was a plantation-reared Kentucky man who had gone to Yale, spoke fluent French and German, and recited lengthy passages from Shakespeare.

The meeting did succeed, however, in searing into the minds of several French officers a singular image: that of Churchill, angered by the French failure to prepare his afternoon bath, bursting through a set of double doors wearing a red kimono and a white belt, exclaiming, "Uh ay ma bain?"—his French version of the question "Where is my bath?" One witness reported that in his fury he looked like "an angry Japanese genie.

He told Hitler, "There is evident injustice in the French attitude; but defeat in war is always followed by injustice." He raised the example of the aftermath of the American Civil War and the North's "terrible" treatment of the South.

The one firm rock on which everyone was willing to build for the last two years was the French army," wrote Foreign Secretary Halifax in his diary, "and the Germans walked through it like they did through the Poles.