#paris quote

[howtobelongtoparis]

You can't escape the past in Paris, and yet what's so wonderful about it is that the past and present intermingle so intangibly that it doesn't seem to burden.

Allen Ginsberg

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

Every time I look down on this timeless town, whether blue or gray be her skies, whether loud be her cheers, or whether soft be her tears, more and more do I realize that…I love Paris.

Ella Fitzgerald

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

Paris is "the city," isn't it, and I am a lover of cities. It can be experienced much more pleasantly and conveniently than any other city I know. It's so easy to get around on the metro, and so interesting when you get there--each arrondissement is like a separate province, with its own capital and customs and even costumes.

John Ashbery, The Paris Review, winter 1983

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

I think Paris smells not just sweet but melancholy and curious, sometimes sad but always enticing and seductive. She's a city for the all senses, for artists and writers and musicians and dreamers, for fantasies, for long walks and wine and lovers and, yes, for mysteries.

M J Rose

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

In Paris I find everything that appeals to me: lights, noises in the night, places where one has fun according to one's liking, a sympathetic and tolerant world, in sum, a true civilization.

Countee Cullen, notebook, 1928

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

To inhale Paris preserves the soul.

Victor Hugo

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

Of course I had always known how dazzling Paris is. But to actually live there and walk the streets -- with the massive plane trees and ancient cobblestones, the rose-tinted street lamps, the green bookstalls, and golden limestone façades -- well, the French know a little something about seduction.

Amy Thomas,  Paris, My Sweet: A Year in the City of Light

[parisian-nights-alluring-sights]

You can’t escape the past in Paris, and yet what’s so wonderful about it is that the past and present intermingle so intangibly that it doesn’t seem to burden

Allen Ginsberg