Aix Quotes

Although this detail has no connection whatever with the real substance of what we are about to relate, it will not be superfluous, if merely for the sake of exactness in all points, to mention here the various rumors and remarks which had been in circulation about him from the very moment when he arrived in the diocese. True or false, that which is said of men often occupies as important a place in their lives, and above all in their destinies, as that which they do. M. Myriel was the son of a councillor of the Parliament of Aix; hence he belonged to the nobility of the bar. It was said that his father, destining him to be the heir of his own post, had married him at a very early age, eighteen or twenty, in accordance with a custom which is rather widely prevalent in parliamentary families. In spite of this marriage, however, it was said that Charles Myriel created a great deal of talk. He was well formed, though rather short in stature, elegant, graceful, intelligent; the whole of the first portion of his life had been devoted to the world and to gallantry.

Dark Sunglasses: You may want to pick up a pair of especially dark glasses (to be more discreet when appreciating the beautiful people of Aix-en-Provence).

Irène Fayolle and Gabriel Prudent met in Aix-en-Provence in 1981. She was forty, he fifty.

I imagined the two of them, when Irène had returned to Gabriel at Aix station. I wondered why she hadn’t left Paul Seul, why she had gone back home.

Not many people can imagine a president of the Parlement of Aix—it is a species of beast of which people have often spoken without knowing it well: strict and unbending by profession, and pernickety, credulous, stubborn, vain, cowardly, garrulous and stupid by character; with a beaky little face, rolling his 'r's like a Punchinello, commonly as thin as a rake, lanky and skinny and stinking like a corpse...

In the seventeenth century there occurred the spiritual possession by divers demons of the nuns belonging to the Ursuline convent at Aix-en-Provence. Excommunication was soon in coming for the blighted sisters, who had been seduced into assorted blasphemies by the likes of Grésil, Sonnillon, and Vérin. De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal respectively characterizes these demons, in the words of an unknown translator, as “the one who glistens horribly like a rainbow of insects; the one who quivers in a horrible manner; and the one who moves with a particular creeping motion.

The months passed, until the day a woman entered Irène Fayolle’s rose-nursery to order a spray of white roses to be delivered to Aix-en-Provence. As she filled in the delivery note, Irène saw that the roses were to be taken to Aix’s Saint-Pierre cemetery, for Mme Martine Robin, wife of Gabriel Prudent.

دراسة تاريخية حاول المؤلف من خلالها إماطة اللثام عن إحدى أهم المقاومات الشعبية المسلحة التي اندلعت في وجه المستدمر الفرنسي بمنطقة بوسعادة، وإبراز مدى مساهمتها في النضال الوطني الجزائري. واعتمد في انجازها -بالدرجة الأولى- على وثائق الأرشيف الفرنسي المحفوظة بمركز أرشيف ما وراء البحار (Archives nationales d'outre-mer) بآكس أون بروفانس (Aix-en-Provence) وكتابات الضباط والمترجمين الفرنسيين الذين عايشوا فترة الدراسة وأرّخوا لها، أمثال : شارل فيرو والكلونيل روبن و تروملي و آرنو و أوكابيتان وبورجاد ولوين رين .. وغيرهم.

The color is yet another variant in another dimension of variation, that of its relations with the surroundings: this red is what it is only by connecting up from its place with other reds about it, with which it forms a constellation, or with other colors it dominates or that dominate it, that it attracts or that attracts it, that it repels or that repel it. In short, it is a certain node in the woof of the simultaneous and the successive. It is a concretion of visibility, it is not an atom. The red dress a fortiori holds with all its fibers onto the fabric of the visible, and thereby onto a fabric of invisible being. A punctuation in the field of red things, which includes the tiles of roof tops, the flags of gatekeepers and of the Revolution, certain terrains near Aix or in Madagascar, it is also a punctuation in the field of red garments, which includes, along with the dresses of women, robes of professors, bishops, and advocate generals, and also in the field of adornments and that of uniforms. And its red literally is not the same as it appears in one constellation or in the other, as the pure essence of the Revolution of 1917 precipitates in it, or that of the eternal feminine, or that of the public prosecutor, or that of the gypsies dressed like hussars who reigned twenty-five years ago over an inn on the Champs-Elysées. A certain red is also a fossil drawn up from the depths of imaginary worlds. If we took all these participations into account, we would recognize that a naked color, and in general a visible, is not a chunk of absolutely hard, indivisible being, offered all naked to a vision which could be only total or null, but is rather a sort of straits between exterior horizons and interior horizons ever gaping open, something that comes to touch lightly and makes diverse regions of the colored or visible world resound at the distances, a certain differentiation, an ephemeral modulation of this world—less a color or a thing, therefore, than a difference between things and colors, a momentary crystallization of colored being or of visibility. Between the alleged colors and visibles, we would find anew the tissue that lines them, sustains them, nourishes them, and which for its part is not a thing, but a possibility, a latency, and a flesh of things.

And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is - friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

En 1969, j'assistais à Aix-en-Provence à un colloque sur la politique des Etats indépendants du Maghreb (Etats successeurs, disait la note de présentation). Un participant, ancien membre du service psychologique de l'armée française lors de la guerre d'Algérie, avait affirmé : "De grâce cessez de parler de ces Etats comme s'ils étaient contemporains du nôtre, ils ressemblent à celui de Louis le Hutin." J'avais alors noté ceci : - Je sais maintenant ce que sera la politique de nos ennemis d'hier ; ils critiqueront les gouvernements nationaux (les Etats successeurs) d'un point de vue de gauche. A chaque occasion, ils s'écriront : Et la pauvreté ? L'analphabétisme ? Les disparités sociales? Les droits de la femme ? L’intolérance religieuse ? Ils exigeront que nous réalisions des miracles, que nous fassions en quelques années ce qu'ils ne firent pas en plus d'un siècle, ce qu'ils disaient être incompatible avec nos coutumes, contraire à notre intérêt bien compris. Malheureusement, ils gagneront très vite la sympathie des jeunes, toujours impatiens et vite déçus." p198-199

Es muy fea. ¡Y sin embargo, es deliciosa! El Tiempo y el Amor la han señalado con sus garras y la han enseñado cruelmente lo que cada minuto y cada beso se llevan de juventud y de frescura. Es verdaderamente fea; es hormiga, araña, si queréis hasta esqueleto: ¡pero también es brebaje, magisterio, hechizo! En suma, es exquisita. No pudo el Tiempo romper la armonía chispeante de su andar y la elegancia indestructible de su armazón. El Amor no pudo alterar la suavidad de su hálito infantil, y el tiempo nada arrancó de su abundante crin que exhala en leonados perfumes toda la vitalidad endiablada del Mediodía francés: Nimes, Aix, Arles, Aviñón, Narbona, Tolosa, ¡ciudades benditas del sol, enamoradas y encantadoras! En vano la mordieron con buenos dientes el Tiempo y el Amor; en nada amenguaron el encanto vago, pero eterno, de su pecho de doncel. Gastada quizá, pero no fatigada, y siempre heroica, hace pensar en esos caballos de raza fina que los ojos del verdadero aficionado distinguen aunque vayan enganchados a un coche de alquiler o a un lento carromato. ¡Y es, además, tan dulce y ferviente! Quiere como se quiere en otoño; diríase que la proximidad del invierno prende en su corazón un fuego nuevo, y nada de fatigoso hubo jamás en lo servil de su ternura.

Markets in Provence No region is such a market-must. Be it fresh fish by the port in seafaring Marseille, early summer's strings of pink garlic, Cavaillon melons and cherries all summer long or wintertime's earthy 'black diamond' truffles, Provence thrives on a bounty of local produce – piled high each morning at the market. Every town and village has one, but those in Aix-en-Provence and Antibes are particularly atmospheric. Take your own bag to stock up on dried herbs, green and black olives marinated a dozen different ways, courgette flowers and tangy olive oils.

After sending his son back to Aquitania, although weak from age he set out to hunt, as usual, near his palace at Aix-la-Chapelle, and passed the rest of the autumn in the chase, returning thither about the first of November. While wintering there, he was seized, in the month of January, with a high fever Jan 22], and took to his bed. As soon as he was taken sick, he prescribed for himself abstinence from food, as he always used to do in case of fever, thinking that the disease could be driven off , or at least mitigated, by fasting.

Children are not the glue. They are the cracks that force one to search for glue.

Les Marseillais n'aiment pas les voyages. Tout le monde les croit marins, aventuriers, que leur père ou leur grand-père a fait le tour du monde, au moins une fois. Au mieux, ils étaient allés jusqu'à Niolon, ou au Cap Croisette. Dans les familles bourgeoises, la mer était interdite aux enfants. Le port permettait les affaires, mais la mer, c'était sale. C'est par là qu'arrivait le vice. Et la peste. Dès les beaux jours, on partait vivre dans les terres. Aix et sa campagne, ses mas et ses bastides. La mer, on la laissait aux pauvres.

Morgan was no doubt pleased that Millet was sailing on the maiden voyage of the Titanic. He had planned to be on board himself before changing his plans in favor of a stay at a spa at Aix-les-Bains with his mistress.

There was a bustle of people in the street as I made my way to La Bonbonnière, which is, quite simply, the most beautiful candy store in the world. The best thing about La Bonbonnière is that it's all windows. Before I even walk through the door I am greeted by a fuzzy three-foot-high statue of a polar bear trying to dip his paws into a copper cauldron filled with marrons glacés--- whole candied chestnuts. Each one was meticulously wrapped in gold foil, a miniature gift in and of itself. If nothing else, Christmas in Provence reminds you of a time when sugar was a luxury as fine and rare as silk. Back to my assignment: I needed two kinds of nougat: white soft nougat made with honey, almonds, and fluffy egg whites (the angel's part) and hard dark nougat--- more like honey almond brittle--- for the devil. Where are the calissons d'Aix? There they are, hiding behind the cash register, small ovals of almond paste covered with fondant icing. Traditional calissons are flavored with essence of bitter almond, but I couldn't resist some of the more exotic variations: rose, lemon verbena, and génépi, an astringent mountain herb. Though I love the tender chew of nougat and the pliant sweetness of marzipan, my favorite of the Provençal Christmas treats is the mendiant--- a small disk of dark or milk chocolate topped with dried fruit and nuts representing four religious orders: raisins for the Dominicans, hazelnuts for the Augustinians, dried figs for the Franciscans, and almonds for the Carmelites. When Alexandre is a bit older, I think we'll make these together. They seem like an ideal family project--- essentially puddles of melted chocolate with fruit and nut toppings. See, as soon as you say "puddles of melted chocolate," everyone's on board. Though fruits confits--- candied fruit--- are not, strictly speaking, part of les trieze desserts, I can't resist. I think of them as the crown jewels of French confiserie, and Apt is the world capital of production. Dipped in sugar syrup, the fruits become almost translucent; whole pears, apricots, and strawberries glow from within like the gems in a pirate's treasure chest. Slices of kiwi, melon, and angelica catch the light like the panes of a stained-glass window. All the dazzling tastes of a Provençal summer, frozen in time.

Carlo Rovelli, an Italian theoretical physicist, is the head of the quantum gravity group at the Centre de Physique Théorique of Aix-Marseille Université. He is one of the founders of the loop quantum gravity theory and author of the international bestseller Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Reality Is Not What It Seems, and The Order of Time. Rovelli lives in Marseille, France.

They say the opposite of love is hate, but it really isn't. It's indifference.

The aroma of garlic and saffron wafted through the air from a corner café. When they approached the boulangerie, Danielle detected the sweet scent of calissons d'Aix, the almond cookies she had loved as a girl. "Let's stop." In the bakery Philippe selected fresh breads, including brioche and Danielle's favorite, fougassette, a flat bread made with orange blossom water.

You read someone's books, and you think you know them. But Books are.... They're for the reader, not the writer, So I was really only seeing myself when I thought I was seeing her.

In Aix we take pride in cultivating our minds, it’s our desire and tradition to do so’, claimed Maurice Gontard. He pointed out that the great Provençal poet, Frederic Mistral, had originally found Aix rather cold, but had finally declared that there was a ‘certain charm to the place’. Music had always played an important role in Aix and there were many active musical societies. The theatre was well frequented, there was a university and various local heritage and language societies to keep the past alive, to show that Aix had its own cultural identity.

Charlemagne is the first great man of action to emerge from the darkness since the collapse of the Roman world. He became a subject of myth and legend. A magnificent reliquary in Aix-la-Chapelle, made about five hundred years after his death to hold a piece of his skull, expresses what the High Middle Ages felt about him in terms that he himself would have appreciated – gold and jewels. But the real man, about whom we know quite a lot from a contemporary biographer, wasn’t so far from that myth. He was a commanding figure, over six feet tall, with piercing blue eyes – only he had a small squeaky voice and a walrus moustache instead of a beard. He was a tireless administrator. The lands he conquered – Bavaria, Saxony, Lombardy – were organised a good deal beyond the capacities of a semi-barbarous age. His empire was an artificial construction and didn’t survive him. But the old idea that he saved civilisation isn’t so far wrong, because it was through him that the Atlantic world re-established contact with the ancient culture of the Mediterranean world. There were great disorders after his death, but no more skin of our teeth. Civilisation had come through.

If you could read my heart, you would see the place I have given you there. Flaubert

Worry about what you can change and stop getting mad at the things you can't.

People see Provence like a dream, but dreams are for sleep. Real word is not a dream.