paris

Paris at night is a street show of a hundred moments you might have lived.

Paris, viewed from the towers of Notre Dame in the cool dawn of a summer morning, is a delectable and a magnificent sight; and the Paris of that period must have been eminently so.

I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles.

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older__ntelligence and good manners.

To study in Paris is to be born in Paris!

The old Paris is no more (the form of a city changes faster, alas! than a mortal's heart).

Paris is a heaven for all woman's obssesions: hot men, great chocolates, scrumptuous pastries, sexy lingerie, cool clothes but, as any shoe-o-phile knows, this city is a hotbed of fabulous shoes.

Do all in Troy despise me?''That is a strong word, my sweet.'The young Queen of Sparta pulled away from her lover's arms. 'It is true then. I have exchanged one prison for another.'Paris gently brushed her cheek with his hand. 'If that is true, we are the most fortunate of prisoners. For we have each other and our love.

... Paris was no more Babylon than it was New Jerusalem. All cities worthy of that name were both: they were one because they were the other...

For a painter, the Mecca of the world, for study, for inspiration and for living is here on this star called Paris. Just look at it, no wonder so many artists have come here and called it home. Brother, if you can't paint in Paris, you'd better give up and marry the boss's daughter.

Admirable, however, as the Paris of the present day appears to you, build up and put together again in imagination the Paris of the fifteenth century; look at the light through that surprising host of steeples, towers, and belfries; pour forth amid the immense city, break against the points of its islands, compress within the arches of the bridges, the current of the Seine, with its large patches of green and yellow, more changeable than a serpent's skin; define clearly the Gothic profile of this old Paris upon an horizon of azure, make its contour float in a wintry fog which clings to its innumerable chimneys; drown it in deep night, and observe the extraordinary play of darkness and light in this sombre labyrinth of buildings; throw into it a ray of moonlight, which shall show its faint outline and cause the huge heads of the towers to stand forth from amid the mist; or revert to that dark picture, touch up with shade the thousand acute angles of the spires and gables, and make them stand out, more jagged than a shark's jaw, upon the copper-coloured sky of evening. Now compare the two.

Well,_ I said, __aris is old, is many centuries. You feel, in Paris, all the time gone by. That isn__ what you feel in New York _ __e was smiling. I stopped.__hat do you feel in New York?_ he asked.__erhaps you feel,_ I told him, __ll the time to come. There__ such power there, everything is in such movement. You can__ help wondering__ can__ help wondering__hat it will all be like__any years from now.

O bid me mount and sail up thereAmid the cloudy wrack,For Peg and Meg and Paris' loveThat had so straight a back,Are gone away, and some that stayHave changed their silk for sack.

They left me. My parents actually left me! IN FRANCE!

I was thrown together with Florence, or 'Florawns' as she was called, a pert girl of nineteen who worked in our kitchen and was sent out to help me. First, I followed her to a butcher where fat sausages hung from the ceiling like aldermen's chains, and I could choose the best of plump ducks, sides of beef, and chops standing guard like sentries on parade. Once the deal was done Florence paid him, gave me a wink and cast a trickle of coins into her apron pocket. So it seemed that serving girls will pay themselves the whole world over.The size of the Paris market made Covent Garden look like a tinker's tray. And I never before saw such neatness; the cakes arranged in pinks and yellows and greens like an embroidery, and the cheeses even prettier, some as tiny as thimbles and others great solid cartwheels. As for the King Cakes the French made for Twelfth Night, the scents of almond and caramelled sugar were to me far sweeter than any perfumed waters.

To breath the air of Paris preserves the soul.

Paris. City of love. City of dreams. City of splendour. City of saints and scholars. City of gaiety.Sink of iniquity.In two thousand years, Paris had seen it all.

As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris.