Sandrine opened her eyes to the soft gray light of early dawn. Recollections of sensual pleasure seemed to caress her body, bringing a smile to her lips. She lay back in the pillow and listened to the breathing of Philippe beside her. She lingered in the memory of the previous night, a memory that was like a warm and tender embrace, an evening of small intimate harmonies. As it should be. Paul A. Myers
Mine was the twilight and the morning. Mine was a world of rooftops and love songs.
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Roman Payne
For in Paris, whenever God puts a pretty woman there (the streets), the Devil, in reply, immediately puts a fool to keep her.
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Jules Barbey DAurevilly
... you’ll have to fall in love at least once in your life, or Paris has failed to rub off on you.
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E.a. Bucchianeri
The great correspondent of the seventeenth century Madame de Sevigne counseled, "Take chocolate in order that even the most tireome company seem acceptable to you, " which is also sound advice today!
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Barrie Kerper
When Hitler marched across the RhineTo take the land of France, La dame de fer decided, ‘ Let’s make the tyrant dance.’ Let him take the land and city, The hills and every flower, One thing he will never have, The elegant Eiffel Tower.The French...
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E.a. Bucchianeri
More Quotes By Paul A. Myers
Sandrine opened her eyes to the soft gray light of early dawn. Recollections of sensual pleasure seemed to caress her body, bringing a smile to her lips. She lay back in the pillow and listened to the breathing of Philippe beside her. She lingered in...
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another woman sitting over in a wing chair, a pleasantly attractive lady wearing the tasteful clothes of a senior redactrice, or senior civil servant, the stylish black skirt, the dark stockings, the black pumps, and the...
A beautiful white silk scarf was around her neck, tucked below the fur collar. Her lips were well painted into a bright red cupid’s bow. Cute as hell I always told myself, with a tinge of regret. She had a steady girlfriend.
She murmured, “I love the imagery of Sappho, the warm summer air across the velvety darkness, the lover between love’s thighs.” She stayed quiet a moment. “But it takes a man’s kiss to put the fire to the metaphor.
