#paris

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

— Stephanie Perkins

#france #paris #parenting

Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air; And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair; And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to study Rome; But when it comes to living, there is no place like home. ↗

— Henry Van Dyke

#dreams

The English language is like London: proudly barbaric yet deeply civilised, too, common yet royal, vulgar yet processional, sacred yet profane. Each sentence we produce, whether we know it or not, is a mongrel mouthful of Chaucerian, Shakespearean, Miltonic, Johnsonian, Dickensian and American. Military, naval, legal, corporate, criminal, jazz, rap and ghetto discourses are mingled at every turn. The French language, like Paris, has attempted, through its Academy, to retain its purity, to fight the advancing tides of Franglais and international prefabrication. English, by comparison, is a shameless whore. ↗

— Stephen Fry

#french #humour #language #london #paris

I think that my job is to observe people and the world, and not to judge them. I always hope to position myself away from so-called conclusions. I would like to leave everything wide open to all the possibilities in the world. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#interview #job #judgement #observation #paris-review

Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#winter #paris

What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight? ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#delight #paris

I should go to Paris and jump off of the Eiffel Tower. If I took the Concorde, I could be dead three hours earlier. ↗

— Woody Allen

#paris

You chose to come to Paris, of all places,” Mencheres replied. So what? Got something against the French? ↗

— Jeaniene Frost

#destined #early #grave #mencheres #paris

I am a cemetery by the moon unblessed. ↗

— Charles Baudelaire

#moon #paris

Dangerous as a lightning strike, as lethal as a pair of crisscrossing short swords, William whispered, “You’re about to find out how your liver tastes, my friend.” “I have tasted it already,” Zacharel said, his voice its usual monotone. The snowflakes began to fall in earnest, tiny at first, but growing in diameter. An arctic wind blustered around him. “It was a bit salty.” How the hell was a guy supposed to respond to that? Apparently William didn’t know, either, because he gaped at the angel. Then, “Maybe if you added a little pepper?” O-kay. It was official. William had an answer for everything. ↗

— Gena Showalter

#william-the-dark #zacharel #paris