Cartier Quotes

Your first 10,000 photographs are your worst.

For me, the camera is a sketch book, an instrument of intuition and spontaneity.

To photograph is to hold one's breath, when all faculties converge to capture fleeting reality. It's at that precise moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy.

To photograph: it is to put on the same line of sight the head, the eye and the heart.

It is through living that we discover ourselves, at the same time as we discover the world around us.

Photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again.

Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch. Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to it are several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—Charlie Tango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice cream cone? I look up at him, bemused. “Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course. “Christian, this is beautiful. Thank you. It’s yar.” He grins. My favorite is the heart. It’s a locket. “You can put a picture or whatever in that.” “A picture of you.” I glance at him through my lashes. “Always in my heart.” He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile. I fondle the last two charms: a letter C—oh yes, I was his first girlfriend to use his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there’s a key. “To my heart and soul,” he whispers.

The photograph itself doesn't interest me. I want only to capture a minute part of reality.

Sharpness is a bourgeois concept

If you were a storm, I would lie down and rest in your rain. If you were a river, I would drink from your currents. If you were a poem, I would never cease to read you. I adore the girl you once were, and I love the woman you have become.

For the world is movement, and you cannot be stationary in your attitude toward something that is moving.

In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little human detail can become a Leitmotiv.

It looks like Armani and Cartier went to war.

Photographier : c'est mettre sur la même ligne de mire la tête, l'oeil et le coeur.

Photography is simultaneously and instantaneously the recognition of a fact and the rigorous organization of visually perceived forms that express and signify that fact

We photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing, and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth which can make them come back again. We cannot develop and print a memory.

I believe that, through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us, which can mold us, but which can also be affected by us. A balance must be established between these two worlds—the one inside us and the one outside us.

— How do you make your pictures? — I don’t know, it’s not important.

The more talented somebody is, the less they need the props. Meeting a person who wrote a masterpiece on the back of a deli menu would not surprise me. Meeting a person who wrote a masterpiece with a silver Cartier fountain pen on an antique writing table in an airy SoHo loft would seriously surprise me.

Reality offers us such wealth that we must cut some of it out on the spot, simplify. The question is, do we always cut out what we should? ­

There is no closed figure in nature. Every shape participates with another. No one thing is independent of another, and one thing rhymes with another, and light gives them shape.

I love the heart that is within you," Cartier said, smiling as his tears fell. "I love the spirit you are forged from Brienna MacQuinn. If you were a storm, I would lie down and rest in your rain. If you were a river, I would drink from your currents. If you were a poem, I would never cease to read you. I adore the girl you were, and I love the woman you have become. Marry me. Lead my lands and my people, and take me as yours.

For me the camera is a sketch book, an instrument of intuition and spontaneity, the master of the instant which, in visual terms, questions and decides simultaneously. In order to "give a meaning" to the world, one has to feel oneself involved in what one frames through the viewfinder. This attitude requires concentration, a discipline of the mind, sensitivity, and a sense of geometry.

luxury is irrational, which makes it the best business in the world. In 2016 Estée Lauder was worth more than the world’s largest communications firm, WPP.9 Richemont, owner of Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels, was worth more than T-Mobile.10 LVMH commands more value than Goldman Sachs.

If there is one point, it's humanity, it's life, the richness of life. The thing is simply to be sensitive.

For me photography is to place head and heart and eye along the same line of sight. It’s a way of life.

To take photographs is to hold one's breath when all faculties converge in the face of fleeing reality. It is at that moment that mastering an image becomes a great physical and intellectual joy. To take photographs means to recognize—simultaneously and within a fraction of a second—both the fact itself and the rigorous organization of visually perceived forms that give it meaning. It is putting one's head, one's eye, and one's heart on the same axis.

qualunque cosa noi facciamo, kertész l’ha fatto prima.

89 La 89 de ani, cu tortul în față, Într-un costum din trei piese, Ai răspunsul la întrebarea: ce-i viața? Un espresso.

When Cartier-Bresson goes to China, he shows that there are people in China, and that they are Chinese.

the runway style. With her short hair freshly died platinum blonde she had to slay the scene in a black Crooks and Castle snapback, diamond stud earrings, gold collar necklace, red Crooks and Castle sweatshirt, Cartier gold men’s watch, black leather leggings, Saint Laurent suede peep-toe lace-up booties and a extra sickening red $7750 VBH Brera ostrich satchel bag.

You don’t look like a mom,” Isabelle observed. “What does a mom look like to you?” “I don’t know.” She smiled. “Cartier Love bracelet? Lululemon?” I laughed at that, her referencing the staples of private-school carpool lanes. There were so many things I wanted to teach her. That being a mother did not have to mean no longer being a woman. That she could continue to live outside the lines. That forty was not the end. That there was more joy to be had. That there was an Act II, an Act III, an Act IV if she wanted it … But at thirteen, I imagined, she did not care. I imagined she just wanted to feel safe. I could not blame her. We had already shaken her ground. “Am I a mom?” I asked her then, kissing her forehead. She nodded. “Well, then, this is what a mom looks like.

In nenadoma me je napolnila radost, da sploh sem. Ni važno, kako in kje, da le obstajam. Dokler lahko. Bolje je živeti še tako usrano življenje, kot sploh nobenega.

Vos 10 000 premières photographies seront les pires.

Of all the means of expression, photography is the only one that fixes forever the precise and transitory instant. We photographers deal in things that are continually vanishing, and when they have vanished, there is no contrivance on earth that can make them come back again. We cannot develop and print a memory. The writer has time to reflect. He can accept and reject, accept again; and before committing his thoughts to paper he is able to tie the several relevant elements together. There is also a period when his brain "forgets," and his subconscious works on classifying his thoughts. But for photographers, what has gone is gone forever.

Your eye must see a composition or an expression that life itself offers you, and you must know with intuition when to click the camera.

I know what courting is!” exclaimed Miss Bingley, outraged. “Are you being courted? How lovely, Miss Bingley, what is the gentleman's name?” asked Georgiana sweetly.

Cand o vedeai, emana o stralucire care parea o palma foarte violenta peste fata saraciei din cartier.

• Vintage Cartier Tank Américaine wristwatch

Native Americans cured Cartier's men of scurvy near Montreal in 1535. They repaired Francis Drake's Golden Hind in California so he could complete his round-the-world voyage in 1579. Lewis and Clark's expedition to the Pacific Northwest was made possible by tribe after tribe of American Indians, with help from two Shoshone guides, Sacagawea and Toby, who served as interpreters. When Admiral Peary discovered the North Pole, the first person there was probably neither the European American Peary nor the African American Matthew Henson, his assistant, but their four Inuit guides, men and women on whom the entire expedition relied. Our histories fail to mention such assistance. They portray proud Western conquerors bestriding the world like the Colossus at Rhodes. So long as our textbooks hide from us the roles that people of color have played in exploration, from at least 6000 BC to to the twentieth century, they encourage us to look to Europe and its extensions as the seat of all knowledge and intelligence. So long as they say "discover," they imply that whites are the only people who really matter. So long as they simply celebrate Columbus, rather than teach both sides of his exploit, they encourage us to identify with white Western exploitation rather than study it.

I love the heart that is within you," Cartier said, smiling as his tears fell. "I love the spirit you are forged from Brienna MacQuinn. If you were a storm, I would lie down and rest in your rain. If you were a river, I would drink from your currents. If you were a poem, I would never cease to read you. I adore the girl you once were, and I love the woman you have become. Marry me. Lead my lands and my people, and take me as yours.

Bingley suddenly realised that he had been taken in by a very cold woman. This seemingly angelic creature was no more caring than Caroline; she only hid it better under a genteel veneer of serenity and false compassion.

Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch. Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver or platinum or white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to it are several charms: the Eiffel Tower; a London black cab; a helicopter—Charlie Tango; a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace; a bed; and an ice cream cone? I look up at him, bemused. “Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically(...)

I was once present at a lecture that Eugene Smith gave to some students at a school of photography. At the end, they protested because he had made no mention of photography, but had spoken the whole time about music. He calmed them by saying that what was valid for one was valid for another. —Henri Cartier-Bresson

Where we love is home, Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., Homesick in Heaven

But your art creates a window into another world. That is a true gift, to help others see the world in a different way.

he never stopped taking photographs, only now it isn’t with a camera but mentally.

What arts and allurements have you used upon Mr Darcy?” he demanded, grasping her upper arm hard, making her gasp.

You truly have no idea that Fitzwilliam is in love with you, do you?” she asked. “I did tell you, Anne,” said Charlotte

I am

Seems to me that you did your best to ensure your survival, ma'am. Mrs Bennet's fear of the hedgerows is legendary in these parts,” quipped Old Queenie Toms,

we discussed this dire problem with education and illusions of academic contribution, with Ivy League universities becoming in the eyes of the new Asian and U.S. upper class a status luxury good. Harvard is like a Vuitton bag or a Cartier watch. It is a huge drag on the middle-class parents who have been plowing an increased share of their savings into these institutions, transferring their money to administrators, real estate developers, professors, and other agents. In the United States, we have a buildup of student loans that automatically transfer to these rent extractors. In a way it is no different from racketeering: one needs a decent university “name” to get ahead in life; but we know that collectively society doesn’t appear to advance with organized education.

The photographic moment for Cartier-Bresson is an instant, a fraction of a second, and he stalks that instant as though it were a wild animal. The photographic moment for Strand is a biographical or historic moment, whose duration is ideally measured not by seconds but by its relation to a lifetime. Strand does not pursue an instant, but encourages a moment to arise as one might encourage a story to be told.

VIAŢA MEA ÎNTREAGĂ Am stăruit în apropierea fericirii şi în măruntaiele suferinţei. Am văzut un cartier nesfârşit unde se împlineşte o nesătulă nemurire de asfinţituri. Am savurat multe cuvinte. Am convingerea nestrămutată că asta e tot şi că nu voi mai vedea şi nici nu voi mai săvârşi lucruri noi. Cred că zilele mele sunt egale în sărăcie şi în bogăţie cu cele ale lui Dumnezeu şi cu cele ale tutuuror oamenilor.

Have you stopped to think what could have occurred in the fewer than twenty-four hours that Elizabeth was married to make her react in such a fashion? You believe this is all about you, you great narcissistic blockhead!!!

DINCOLO DE FERESTRE Însemnăm cu fotografii clipele frumoase Pentru că însemnăm unii pentru alții imens. Înainte păstram pozele în sertarul de la masă, Azi le postăm pe un perete pe care-l rulăm în jos fără sens. Acolo ne strigăm bucuria și amărăciunea, Acolo ne înmulțim păcatele. Iar când ne așezăm la masă, în loc să ne spunem rugăciunea, Fotografiem repede bucatele. Acolo pe perete prieteni ai o mulțime Și cel mai des te uimesc reacțiile lor. E la fel ca înălțimea: Unora le dă amețeli, altora – poftă de zbor. Dar ție îți plac geamurile. Atunci, privește-le! Dincolo de ele viața continuă amețitor. Ca să ieșim de aici, trebuie să închidem ferestrele Din casă și din calculator.

Spre deosebire de alte popoare asiatice, tailandezii nu cred în fantome şi manifestă puţin interes pentru soarta cadavrelor. Cele mai multe sunt duse direct la groapa comună. Cum nu voi lăsa instrucţiuni precise, la fel se va-ntâmpla şi cu mine. Cineva, foarte departe, în Franţa, va completa un act de deces, va bifa o căsuţă într-un formular de stare civilă. Câţiva vânzători ambulanţi obişnuiţi să mă vadă prin cartier vor clătina din cap. Camera mea va fi închiriată altui călător. Apoi mă vor uita, mă vor uita repede...

Miss Bingley! The tradesman's daughter who is always presuming on my poor cousin's invitations to his friend? How interesting. My cousin has told me of you, Miss Bingley. You and that seminary that taught you how to catch husbands. Did they teach you anything else, such as how to greet your betters?

Für mich besteht die Photographie im gleichzeitigen blitzschnellen Erkennen der inneren Bedeutung der Tatsache einerseits, und auf der anderen Seite des strengen und rückhaltlosen Aufbaus der optisch erfaßbaren Formenwelt, die jede Tatsache zum Ausdruck bringt. Indem wir leben, entdecken wir uns selbst und gleichzeitig die Außenwelt, die auf uns einwirkt, auf die wir aber auch unsererseits einwirken können. Zwischen dieser inneren und äußeren Welt muß ein Gleichgewicht geschaffen werden, die beiden Welten bilden in einem immerwährenden Dialog ein einziges Ganzes, und den Begriff davon müssen wir mitzuteilen suchen.

Hallsy is only thirty-nine, and already her face is pulled tight as a pair of Lululemon yoga pants across a plus-size girl’s rear. She’s never been married, which she’ll tell you she never wants to be even though she hangs all over every remotely fuckable guy after a single drink, while they gently untangle her Marshmallow Man arms from around their stiff necks. It’s no wonder the only ring on her finger is the Cartier Trinity, what with the way she’s ruined her face and the fact that she spends more time sunning on the beach than she should running on a treadmill. But it’s not just her sunspot-speckled chest and stocky, lazy frame. Hallsy is the type of person others describe as “whacky” and “kooky,” which is just the civilized way of saying she’s a nasty cunt. Hallsy she loves me.

He writes neither in the character of a Frenchman nor an Englishman, but in the fawning character of that creature known in all countries, and a friend to none - a courtier. Whether it be the Court of Versailles, or the Court of St. James, or Carlton-House, or the Court in expectation, signifies not; for the caterpillar principle of all Courts and Courtiers are alike. They form a common policy throughout Europe, detached and separate from the interest of Nations: and while they appear to quarrel, they agree to plunder. Nothing can be more terrible to a Court or Cartier than the Revolution of France. That which is a blessing to Nations is bitterness to them: and as their existence depends on the duplicity of a country, they tremble at the approach of principles, and dread the precedent that threatens their overthrow.

As for denying the existence of fairies, good and bad, you have to be blind not to see them. They are everywhere, and naturally I have links of affection or dislike with all of them. The wealthy, spendthrift ones squander fortunes in Venice or Monte Carlo: fabulous, ageless women whose birthdays and incomes and origins nobody knows, putting charms on roulette wheels for the dubious pleasure of seeing the same number come up more often than it ought. There they sit, puffing smoke from long cigarette-holders, raking in the chips, and looking bored. Others spend the hours of darkness hanging their apartments in Paris or New York with Gothic tapestries, hitherto unrecorded, that drive the art-dealers demented-gorgeous tapestries kept hidden away in massive chests beneath deserted abbeys and castles since their own belle epoque in the Middle Ages. Some stick to their original line of country, agitating tables at seances or organizing the excitement in haunted houses; some perform kind deeds, but in a capricious and uncertain manner that frequently goes wrong, And then there are the amorous fairies, who never give up. They were to be seen fluttering through the Val Sans Retour in the forest of Broceliande, where Morgan la Fee concealed the handsome knight Guyomar and many lost lovers besides, or over the Isle of Avallon where the young knight Lanval lived happily with a fairy who had stolen him away. Now wrinkled with age, the amorous ones contrive to lure young men on the make who, immaculately tailored and bedecked with baubles from Cartier, escort them through the vestibules of international hotels. Yet other fairies, more studious and respectable, devote themselves to science, whirring and breathing above tired inventors and inspiring original ideas-though lately the unimaginable numbers,the formulae and the electronics, tend to overwhelm them. The scarcely comprehensible discoveries multiply around them and shake a world that is not theirs any more, that slips through their immaterial fingers. And so it goes on-all sorts and conditions of fairies, whispering together, purring to themselves, unnoticed on the impercipient earth. And I am one of them.

Ottawa, Ontario July 1, 2017 The Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, today issued the following statement on Canada Day: Today, we celebrate the 150th anniversary of Confederation. We come together as Canadians to celebrate the achievements of our great country, reflect on our past and present, and look boldly toward our future. Canada’s story stretches back long before Confederation, to the first people who worked, loved, and built their lives here, and to those who came here centuries later in search of a better life for their families. In 1867, the vision of Sir George-Étienne Cartier and Sir John A. Macdonald, among others, gave rise to Confederation – an early union, and one of the moments that have come to define Canada. In the 150 years since, we have continued to grow and define ourselves as a country. We fought valiantly in two world wars, built the infrastructure that would connect us, and enshrined our dearest values – equality, diversity, freedom of the individual, and two official languages – in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. These moments, and many others, shaped Canada into the extraordinary country it is today – prosperous, generous, and proud. At the heart of Canada’s story are millions of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. They exemplify what it means to be Canadian: ambitious aspirations, leadership driven by compassion, and the courage to dream boldly. Whether we were born here or have chosen Canada as our home, this is who we are. Ours is a land of Indigenous Peoples, settlers, and newcomers, and our diversity has always been at the core of our success. Canada’s history is built on countless instances of people uniting across their differences to work and thrive together. We express ourselves in French, English, and hundreds of other languages, we practice many faiths, we experience life through different cultures, and yet we are one country. Today, as has been the case for centuries, we are strong not in spite of our differences, but because of them. As we mark Canada 150, we also recognize that for many, today is not an occasion for celebration. Indigenous Peoples in this country have faced oppression for centuries. As a society, we must acknowledge and apologize for past wrongs, and chart a path forward for the next 150 years – one in which we continue to build our nation-to-nation, Inuit-Crown, and government-to-government relationship with the First Nations, Inuit, and Métis Nation. Our efforts toward reconciliation reflect a deep Canadian tradition – the belief that better is always possible. Our job now is to ensure every Canadian has a real and fair chance at success. We must create the right conditions so that the middle class, and those working hard to join it, can build a better life for themselves and their families. Great promise and responsibility await Canada. As we look ahead to the next 150 years, we will continue to rise to the most pressing challenges we face, climate change among the first ones. We will meet these challenges the way we always have – with hard work, determination, and hope. On the 150th anniversary of Confederation, we celebrate the millions of Canadians who have come together to make our country the strong, prosperous, and open place it is today. On behalf of the Government of Canada, I wish you and your loved ones a very happy Canada Day.

None were particularly interesting, although I got a kick out of a note from the Philadelphia Zoo suggesting that since the tiger was not entirely reliable around humans, perhaps Mr. Willing would consider a leopard for his painting instead. It had been a pet until the demise (natural) of its owner and would, if not firmly admonished, climb into a person's lap, purring, and drool copiously. I pulled a sheet of scrap paper (the Stars spent a lot of time sending all-school e-mails about recycling) out of my bag and made a note on the blank side: "Leopard in The Lady in DeNile?" It wasn't my favorite, Cleopatra Awaiting the Return of Anthony. It was a little OTT, loaded with gold and snake imagery and, of course, the leopard. Diana hadn't liked the painting,either, apparently; she was the one who'd given it the Lady in DeNile nickname.I wondered if the leopard had drooled on her. None of the papers were personal, but they were Edward's and some were special, if you knew about his life. There was a bill from the Hotel Ritz in Paris in April 1890, and one from Cartier two months later for a pair of Tahitian pearl drop earrings. Diana was wearing them in my favorite photograph of the two of them: happy and visibly tanned, even in black and white, holding lobsters on a beach in Maine. "I insisted we let them go," Diana wrote in a letter to her niece. "Edward had a snit.He wanted a lobster dinner, but I could not countenance eating a fellow model.

In 1853, Haussmann began the incredible transformation of Paris, reconfiguring the city into 20 manageable arrondissements, all linked with grand, gas-lit boulevards and new arteries of running water to feed large public parks and beautiful gardens influenced greatly by London’s Kew Gardens. In every quarter, the indefatigable prefect, in concert with engineer Jean-Charles Alphand, refurbished neglected estates such as Parc Monceau and the Jardin du Luxembourg, and transformed royal hunting enclaves into new parks such as enormous Bois de Boulogne and Bois de Vincennes. They added romantic Parc des Buttes Chaumont and Parc Montsouris in areas that were formerly inhospitable quarries, as well as dozens of smaller neighborhood gardens that Alphand described as "green and flowering salons." Thanks to hothouses that sprang up in Paris, inspired by England’s prefabricated cast iron and glass factory buildings and huge exhibition halls such as the Crystal Palace, exotic blooms became readily available for small Parisian gardens. For example, nineteenth-century metal and glass conservatories added by Charles Rohault de Fleury to the Jardin des Plantes, Louis XIII’s 1626 royal botanical garden for medicinal plants, provided ideal conditions for orchids, tulips, and other plant species from around the globe. Other steel structures, such as Victor Baltard’s 12 metal and glass market stalls at Les Halles in the 1850s, also heralded the coming of Paris’s most enduring symbol, Gustave Eiffel’s 1889 Universal Exposition tower, and the installation of steel viaducts for trains to all parts of France. Word of this new Paris brought about emulative City Beautiful movements in most European capitals, and in the United States, Bois de Boulogne and Parc des Buttes Chaumont became models for Frederick Law Olmsted’s Central Park in New York. Meanwhile, for Parisians fascinated by the lakes, cascades, grottoes, lawns, flowerbeds, and trees that transformed their city from just another ancient capital into a lyrical, magical garden city, the new Paris became a textbook for cross-pollinating garden ideas at any scale. Royal gardens and exotic public pleasure grounds of the Second Empire became springboards for gardens such as Bernard Tschumi’s vast, conceptual Parc de La Villette, with its modern follies, and “wild” jardins en mouvement at the Fondation Cartier and the Musée du Quai Branly. In turn, allées of trees in some classic formal gardens were allowed to grow freely or were interleaved with wildflower meadows and wild grasses for their unsung beauty. Private gardens hidden behind hôtel particulier walls, gardens in spacious suburbs, city courtyards, and minuscule rooftop terraces, became expressions of old and very new gardens that synthesized nature, art, and outdoors living.

În mod normal, te enervezi, deci exişti. Chiar şi când nu faci nimic, tot există în jurul nostru o stare latentă de benga, ca un ralanti al motorului aşteptând să urle, care te ţine pregătit pentru a putea face o criză fără să stai mult pe gânduri. De fiecare dată când ajungi să faci spume, ţi se pare că ăsta e cel mai important lucru din lume, că sensul vieţii e să împarţi dreptatea, să pui lucrurile la punct, să faci reclamaţii, să explici, să descrii cum ar trebui făcute lucrurile bine, să supraveghezi şi să pedepseşti, nu în ultimul rând. Cineva trebuie să aibă dreptate şi, din păcate, toată lumea are. Şi dincolo de dreptate se vede întotdeauna, negru la orizont, spectrul îndreptăţirii. Iar îndreptăţirea este miezul oricărui conflict serios, de durată, este echivalentul unui destin de luptător de cartier, de cvartal, de intersecţie, de casierie. De la o vreme, deşi încerc să-mi păstrez zâmbetul pe buze cât pot, am observat că, parcă, parcă, lucrurile pe care le ştiu atunci când sunt calm şi îmi folosesc umorul dispar ca prin minune atunci când mi se pare că trebuie să discut cu un cretin care exagerează. Nu zic că anumite întâlniri cu idioţi nu pot fi savuroase, că ciocnirile absurde nu pot fi bune de ţinut minte şi de povestit la petreceri sau că unele lucruri nu se pot îndrepta, dacă reacţia potrivită apare la timp. Doar că, uneori, toate astea se confundă periculos de mult cu tot ce înseamnă viaţa noastră. Puţină concentrare îţi poate aduce aminte că cea mai mare parte a conversaţiilor pe care le poartă fiecare dintre noi au în debut măcar eterna plângere despre cât de idioţi sunt ăştia şi cât de mulţi sunt. Evident că există cazuri disperate ale acestei molime în care conţinutul aparţine în majoritate zdrobitoare acestei zone crepusculare. Pentru că nimeni nu renunţă niciodată şi pentru că toată lumea ştie că trebuie să reziste în ciuda logicii şi a bunului-simţ, e posibil ca şi cele mai mici pretexte să devină scopuri înalte. Repetiţia scenariilor idioate nu pune pe nimeni pe gânduri, nu naşte niciun dubiu, ci doar inflamează insistenţa de a merge până la capăt pe calea aleasă, deşi totul dovedeşte că e greşită, catastrofală, cronofagă, autodistructivă. De-asta, eu m-am hotărât să nu mă mai enervez la service şi să nu mai iau în serios faptul că pot să iau maşina reparată, mai puţin pentru kestia pentru care am adus-o. De ce să pun la inimă, dacă anticipez asta şi mi se pare că e nepotrivit să insist, că oamenii sunt profesionişti, ştiu ce au de făcut şi că îi deranjez cu insistenţe inutile. În sfârşit, am reuşit să mă distrez când văd spoturi cu bănci care spun cât e de simplu să investeşti şi să ai o viaţă lipsită de stres. E ca şi cum nu am şti toţi cât e de absurd dialogul cu băncile şi cu asigurările, dar aşa e lumea, indulgentă, mai ia un Distonocalm. Dacă tragi linie şi vezi cam cât mai rămâne din viaţa ta, după ce extragi crizele de nervi, nemulţumirea şi timpul irosit pentru a-ţi reveni, şi tot nu pare suficient, atunci înseamnă că există un destin colectiv de victime, un sindrom general de persecuţie reciprocă şi că el trebuie trăit până la capăt, aşa cum spune cartea de aur a înţelepciunii imbecile: am plătit, mâncăm.

Enjoy a drink at the Hôtel Scribe (6; 1 rue Scribe), where Cartier-Bresson feted the liberation of Paris

Henri Cartier-Bresson's approach exemplifies this interest in the autonomy of modernist photographs. Cartier-Bresson took many of his photographs as a professional photojournalist, reporting on conditions and events around the world in multi-image picture-stories. Yet he regularly republished single images from these stories in anthologies with little or no captioning, elevating them in the process from a context of journalism to art.

Don’t worry about that; it’s just your generic HR stuff. What time is it now?” Lisa fumbled with her Cartier watch. “Perfect timing; we’re going to lunch. But first, let me show you to your office.” Lisa slid from behind her desk. As usual, she looked spectacular: her navy pinstriped suit seemed to have been made for her miniature body (and it probably had been), her four-inch Louboutin stilettos elongated her slender legs, and her pixie cut emphasized the perfect features of her face. She looked like a corporate version of Winona Ryder.

Peste trei ani aveți un copil. Ai încercat să‑i explici, dar nu a vrut să înțeleagă că, tuciuriu și pitic cum ești, bebelușul nu va semăna deloc cu un îngeraș, ci mai degrabă cu o pâine gra‑ ham. Și aveți și un câine, un cocker atât de prost, încât maida‑ nezii din cartier îi zic EBA. Ea nu iese cu el la plimbare pentru că, atunci când a ieșit, s‑a întors acasă plină de nervi în cap și de rahat de câine pe adidași până pe la genunchi. Pentru că, nu‑i așa, nu e ea singura care iubește câinii în cartier. În mijlocul sufrageriei e o pată de vomă. Stați în jurul ei și deliberați: o fi de la câine, o fi de la bebe? O fi chiar bebe

It was from him, and from this picture in particular, that Henri Cartier-Bresson had developed the ideal of the decisive moment. Photography seemed to me, as I stood there in the white gallery with its rows of pictures and its press of murmuring spectators, an uncanny art like no other. One moment, in all of history, was captured, but the moments before and after it disappeared into the onrush of time; only that selected moment itself was privileged, saved, for no other reason than its having been picked out by the camera’s eye.

Harvard is like a Vuitton bag or a Cartier watch. It is a huge drag on the middle-class parents who have been plowing an increased share of their savings into these institutions, transferring their money to administrators, real estate developers, professors, and other agents. In the United States, we have a buildup of student loans that automatically transfer to these rent extractors. In a way it is no different from racketeering: one needs a decent university “name” to get ahead in life; but we know that collectively society doesn’t appear to advance with organized education.

O femeie (88) Există o femeie. S-a îndrăgostit de mine. Nu ne potrivim. Acest lucru uneori e deranjant, alteori nu. Cînd e deranjant, o urăsc, iar ea mă adoră insuportabil de strident. în asemenea situaţii are şoldurile groase şi cochetează cu ele. In asemenea situaţii are buzele late şi o mentalitate vulgară, curul îi este teşit, respiraţia acră. Tot ceea ce altă dată era agerime, acum e doar abilitate. Tot ceea ce altădată era un discernămînt sensibil, acum e doar un simplu arivism, complexitatea comportamentală, profundele şi multiplele nuanţe devin superficialitate, mirosul neplăcut al unui parfum scump şi rar — să nu mă ascund după deget —, un miros de căcat, iar dezinvoltura amuzantă e acum un comportament de zurbagiu. Umorul fin — cabotinaj. Drăgălăşenia — o alintare pisicească. Exigenţa, brutalitate, veselia, bufonerie, indispoziţia, îmbufnare, privirea însufleţită, neastîmpăr. Şi aşa mai departe, orice. Cînd nu mă deranjează, atunci eu: sînt mort după ea, gîfîi însufleţit, dacă o privesc mi se înmoaie genunchii, îmi transpiră palmele şi simt că mi-a pus Dumnezeu mîna-n cap că o asemenea femeie mă onorează cu atenţia, iar ea: suportă totul cu îngăduinţă. Are nişte sîni ca o adolescentă răscoaptă. Şoldurile ei, asemenea cotului Dunării (înainte de hidrocentrală). Partea dintre coapse pîrleşte iarba. Pielea nu-i acoperită cu pete de bătrînete, e decorativă. Buzele ei au o viaţă aparte, clocotesc, nu zmeură, nu fruct, ci gust şi culoare (eleganţă, foc, ca de obicei). Privirea-i provoacă furnicături. Nici vorbă ca mersul să-i fie crispat, dimpotrivă, e un zbor lin. în ziua de azi abia dacă mai sînt femei care să umble astfel. în urma paşilor ei renaşte o întreagă lume, se înalţă cartiere, alei, corsouri, esplanade, serate, saloane, terase, platouri, şampanii.

Quando faço uma fotografia", escreve Siskind, "quero que seja um objeto onovo, completo e autosuficiente, cuja condição básica é a ordem." Para Cartier-Bresson, tirar fotografias é "encontrar a estrutura do mundo, deleitar-se com o prazer puro da forma", revelar que "em todo este caos, há ordem".

En la vida como en la fotografía, hay que pasar los negativos a positivos

Tus primeras 10.000 fotos serán tus peores fotos.

We establish a calm abiding center, not to fortify ourselves against the chaos of life, but to help us become resilient, tolerant, and accepting of the inevitable, perplexing, and often agonizing losses we all go through. A calm abiding center and a fully engaged life, therefore, go hand in hand. This inner tempering through the fire of practice allows us to live at higher and higher levels of charge: to feel intensely, love intensely, and work intensely without fracturing in the process. We make firm this abiding center of equanimity, but not to sequester ourselves from life or to make life less “lively.” Rather, as the photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson once said about capturing life through the lens of his camera, we “discipline reality.” Cartier-Bresson did not lessen the poignancy of his subject matter through being attentive to it. In the same way, when we practice Yoga we do not dampen the fiery nature of life: if anything, we place ourselves right in the fierce heat of the center.

But he was so very sad about the boy who didn’t see. Now that Dad was gone I was starting to see how mortality was bound up in things like that cold, arc-lit sky. How the world is full of signs and wonders that come, and go, and if you are lucky you might see them. Once, twice. Perhaps never again. The albums on my mother’s shelves are full of family photographs. But also other things. A starling with a crooked beak. A day of hoarfrost and smoke. A cherry tree thick with blossom. Thunderclouds, lightning strikes, comets and eclipses: celestial events terrifying in their blind distances but reassuring you, too, that the world is for ever, though you are only a blink in its course. Henri Cartier-Bresson called the taking of a good photograph a decisive moment. ‘Your eye must see a composition or an expression that life itself offers you, and you must know with intuition when to click the camera,’ he said. ‘The Moment! Once you miss it, it is gone for ever.

A tiny creature named Elpis, also known as hope. She stayed in Pandora’s jar so that she could revisit us after all our miseries. So that we can hope that the hard times will get better, hope that grief will soften, hope that terrors will quell.

John Cartier: The sound was so deafening. Michele Cartier, Lehman Brothers, North Tower, 40th floor: This high-pitched sound, and I didn’t know what that was, but it was so eerie, like your fingernails-on-a-chalkboard type of thing. Bruno Dellinger, principal, Quint Amasis North America, North Tower, 47th floor: I heard a sound that today I cannot remember. It was so powerful, such a huge sound that I blocked it. It scared me to death. I blocked it, and I cannot bring it back up to consciousness. Howard Lutnick, CEO, Cantor Fitzgerald, North Tower: The loudest sound I’d ever heard. Gregory Fried, executive chief surgeon, NYPD: I can’t even give you an analogy.

And she said it in her essay “On Keeping a Notebook”—which has obvious appeal as a how-to primer for any aspiring writer who likes to eavesdrop but which also delivers an unexpected meditation on identity and place. I was in the right place until it was the wrong place, she says of herself. Or to me: There is nothing wrong with you; you are just in the wrong place. This idea that there is a right place and time for each of us, and you can vacate it by mistake and return to it only at great expense, fills much of her work with a kind of anticipatory nostalgia—looking backward even as she projects into the future. It’s an example of what Shakespeare called the “preposterous,” which as his scholars love to point out literally describes a condition where “before” follows “after” or “pre” follows “post”—a state of chronological, and often psychological, confusion. Remember the scene in “On Keeping a Notebook” when Didion sees a blonde in a Pucci bathing suit at the Beverly Hills Hotel surrounded by fat men? The blonde does the one thing that a blonde in a Pucci bathing suit was born to do: she “arches one foot and dips it into the pool.”2 There, she’s in her element. Right time, right place. It has a cinematic or photographic quality, like Henri Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moment.

She hit a new low in mid-July when she took up with Dodi Fayed, the son of Egyptian tycoon Mohamed Fayed, who had been repeatedly denied British citizenship by the U.K. government. Mohamed Fayed had befriended Diana as a generous benefactor of several of her charities. He appealed to her, according to Andrew Neil, a sometime consultant for Fayed, “by cultivating the idea that both were outsiders and had the same enemies.” Diana met Dodi while she and her sons were staying at the ten-acre Fayed estate in Saint-Tropez. At age forty-two, Dodi was a classic case of arrested development: spoiled, ill-educated, unemployed, rootless, and irresponsible, with a taste for cocaine and fast cars. He showered Diana with extravagant gifts, including an $11,000 gold Cartier Panther watch, and sybaritic trips on his father’s plane and yachts. From the moment the story of their romance broke on August 7, the tabloids covered the couple’s every move with suggestive photographs and lurid prose. William and Harry, who were at Balmoral with their father, mistrusted Dodi, and they were embarrassed by their mother’s exhibitionistic behavior.

... coloana vertebrală a lungului manuscris... Fiecare fragment e o vertebră din coloana vertebrală a fricii, având în vârf, sprijinită pe mecanismul obscen al axisului înfipt în atlas, cupola de os în care m-am născut și din care nu există ieșire. Urc de-a lungul ei, mă cațăr pe oasele ei poroase, ..., îmi lipesc urechea de lama arcului vertebral și ascult: măduva curge în interior cu vuiet, ca o cascadă. Sus e marele bazin neural, sunt un castel de apă ce alimentează cu frică îndepărtatul cartier al trupului meu.

Feeling secure for the moment, I took in a few more details. She was wearing a midnight blue dress, something with texture, maybe raw silk. It was cut just above the knee, with three-quarter length sleeves, an off-the-shoulder neckline, and a deep V cut in the back and front. Her shoes were patent leather stilettos with sharp toes. There was a handbag to match the shoes, and a gold Cartier watch with a gold link band encircling her left wrist. It was a man’s watch, large and heavy on her wrist, and its incongruous heft served to accentuate her femininity. Her hair was swept back and away from her face in a way that accentuated her profile. Overall the look was controlled and sleek, sophisticated and sexy. None of it, especially the shoes, would be ideal for escape and evasion, if it came to that, so I realized she must have chosen it all for some other operational imperative. There are all sorts of weapons in the world, and I reminded myself that when this woman was dressed for work, she was anything but unarmed.

Soon after Cortez conquered Mexico, the French explorer Jacques Cartier cautiously sailed his ships up America’s North Atlantic coast. In 1534 his expedition explored the coast of Canada, and like Cortez, he also wanted to venture inland in search of treasures and new cities. To prepare for the excursion into the interior, he kidnapped Taignoagny and Agaya, two coastal natives whom he took back to France with him to teach them to speak French. Cartier returned in the spring of the following year with the interpreters, whom he used to guide his ships up the St. Lawrence River to the Huron territory of Chief Donnaconna and on to the Huron village of Hochelaga, which became Montreal.

And when a girl walks around and reads all of the signs with all of the famous historical names it really makes you hold your breath. Because when Dorothy and I went on a walk, we only walked a few blocks but in only a few blocks we read all of the famous historical names, like Coty and Cartier and I knew we were seeing something educational at last and our whole trip was not a failure.

I don’t want to be on the partner track, and I definitely don’t want Lindsey’s Cartier jewelry. It’s the success, the stability, the happiness that comes from making a good living doing something I love. I

You have to try and stay alive in front of what you see, struggle with reality, get rid of habits and routines. You have to train yourself to look all the time, swinging between the conscious and the unconscious. In a sort of dance, I practice immediate, automatic, and intuitive drawing. I get a Normas joy from it. But the flaunting of reportage—getting into situations, “working” a subject—that is not photography.

The Bourbaki were Puritans, and Puritans are strongly opposed to pictorial representations of their faith. The number of Protestants and Jews in the Bourbaki group was overwhelming. And you know that the French Protestants especially are very close to Jews in spirit. I have some Jewish background and I was raised as a Huguenot. We are people of the Bible, of the Old Testament, and many Huguenots in France are more enamoured of the Old Testament than of the New Testament. We worship Jahweh more than Jesus sometimes.

The French sailed upriver as far as Stadacona, later to be called Quebec. Stadacona was at the heart of a region known as the “Kingdom of Canada,” with “Canada” being a place name of Iroquoian origin meaning a village or group of houses. After a brief visit to the large Aboriginal town of Hochelaga on the island of Montreal, Cartier and his men settled in to face the rigours of their first North American winter. Early in May 1536 before weighing anchor for France, he erected another cross with the French coat of arms and the Latin inscription, “François I reigning by the grace of God, King of the French.” This was in fact a second claim to possession of the land.

According to the legends of publicity, those who lack the power to spend money become literally faceless. Those who have the power become lovable.” The actress and courtesan Carolina Otero put it more pithily: “No man who has an account at Cartier could ever be regarded as ugly.

Grace immediately wondered which perfume it was, and from what she had already deduced about Connie, imagined it to be something romantic yet sophisticated, classic and expensive, like Cartier or Van Cleef and Arpels.

This is my cat, Juju," the woman says, noting my obvious confusion, maybe even my fear. "He's my good luck charm." "Uh, yeah," I say, backing away ever so slightly. That's some collar. I love the rhinestones. Trés chic." "Rhinestones? Don't be silly. I buy all his accessories from a jeweler. His collar is from Catier. As they say, diamonds are a cat's best friend." My upper lip twitches. Nobody has ever said that. And I'm pretty sure she means Cartier. She blows the cat a kiss, and I swear, if cats could smile, this one does, his giant face twisting with love or hunger. "He's huge," I say, watching his tail flick a bit menacingly. "He's a rare French breed, a Chartreux. He's just, how do you say? Big-boned?" She chortles out a laugh. "I really should put him on a regime like the vétérinaire said. He weighs nine kilos. Can you believe it? I strain my back when I try to pick him up. But he truly doesn't like les haricots verts or les courgettes. He's quite the gourmand." My head spins with confusion. I wonder, What cat would like green beans and zucchini? as I convert the math in my head. Her cat weighs around twenty pounds. And, apparently, he hates vegetables but adores his bling.

Reality offers us such wealth that we must cut some of it out on the spot, simplify. The question is, do we always cut out what we should?

When a man wants to send you some flowers, always say to him: "My florist is Cartier".

Don’t tempt the Devil, Cartier. You may not like him.

Henri Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moment.

To take photographs,” wrote Henri Cartier-Bresson, “is to hold one’s breath when all faculties converge in the face of fleeing reality. . . . It is putting one’s head, one’s eyes and one’s heart on the same axis. . . . It is a way of shouting, of freeing oneself, not of proving or asserting one’s originality. It is a way of life.” These words of the renowned French photographer define photography as an ongoing meditative relationship to the world. For Cartier-Bresson, photography is not merely a profession but a liberating engagement with life itself, the camera not just a machine for recording images but “an instrument of intuition and spontaneity.”1 To be moved to take photographs, like being inspired to practice meditation, is to embark on a path. In both cases you follow an intuitive hunch rather than a carefully considered decisioṇ Something about “photography” or “meditation” draws you irresistibly. While you may initially justify your interest in these pursuits with clear and compelling reasons, the further you proceed along their respective paths, the less you need to explain yourself. The very act of taking a photograph or sitting in meditation is sufficient justification in itself. The notion of an end result to be attained at some point in the future is replaced by an understanding of how

It’s not simply what you buy,” he’d told me as we hovered over Cartier’s gleaming glass counters. “It’s the whole shopping experience.

Mânes de Wolfe et de Montcalm, tombés tous deux le même jour au champ d'honneur, mânes de Lévis, dont le dernier combat sur les bords du Saint-Laurent fut une suprême victoire ; mânes de Montmorency-Laval, qui fut le fondateur de ce vigoureux système d'éducation dont nous récoltons aujourd'hui les résultats ; mânes des martyres de 1837-38, victimes patriotiques dont le sang a fait germer nos libertés politiques ; mânes de Lafontaine et de Baldwin, champions de nos droits constitutionnels ; mânes de Cartier ; mânes de Chapleau ; mânes de Mercier, vous planez en ce moment sur nos têtes ; vous êtes les témoins du spectacle de tout un peuple réuni ici pour se souvenir. Quand vous repartirez ce soir, pour retourner vers ces régions de l'au-delà qu'on appelle le ciel, emportez avec vous l'hymne de reconnaissance, la prière de ce peuple qui est venu s'agenouiller ce matin devant l'autel du Tout-Puissant, pour le remercier et lui demander sa protection pour l'avenir.