Paris was a universe whole and entire unto herself, hollowed and fashioned by history; so she seemed in this age of Napoleon III with her towering buildings, her massive cathedrals, her grand boulevards and ancient winding medieval streets - as vast and indestructible as nature itself.
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.
That Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me.
I love Paris in the summer, when it sizzles.
It is no accident that propels people like us to Paris.
Paris is a place in which we can forget ourselves, reinvent, expunge the dead weight of our past.
I like Frenchmen very much, because even when they insult you they do it so nicely.
In Paris, our lives are one masked ball.
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there.
The last time I saw Paris, her heart was warm and gay, I heard the laughter of her heart in every street café.
In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.
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