Lyon Travel Quotes

Destinies, are like roads. Relationships are much like destinies. Therefore, relationships are like roads. Some roads are circular. They start at one spot and end in the same. Some roads fork and force. Their travelers to choose which way to go. Some roads go great distances. And then there are those that end abruptly. Who is to say that a short road is less meaningful than a long?

In August 1902, Olivia’s health grew alarmingly worse. Despite temporary improvements, it continued to decline, and in 1903, on the recommendation of her doctors, Clemens decided to take the family to Italy. In early November they settled into the Villa di Quarto near Florence. In addition to Clemens himself, the travelers included Olivia, Clara, and Jean. Three employees were also with them: longtime family servant Katy Leary, a nurse for Olivia, and Isabel V. Lyon, who had been hired in 1902 as Olivia’s secretary but had since assumed more general duties.

To answer a popular question, if we define sound as traveling fluctuations in air pressure, then yes, a tree falling in the woods with no one nearby does indeed make a sound. If we define sound to be the electrical signal transmitted by the mechanisms of our inner ears to our brains, then no, that tree falling in the woods makes no sound.

Harivel had orders to travel to Lyon to act as Virginia’s wireless operator. He and two others were welcomed by a reception committee led by the former Socialist deputy Jean Pierre-Bloch and his wife, Gaby, who hurried to hide the materiel and sweep up the men into a safe house. But one newcomer could not be found. In the confusion, he had been dropped four miles off course—together with most of the supplies

My mind veers back to roasted pigeon. And from pigeon, I travel effortlessly, unrestrainedly back to France...the pots of rillettes fragrant with garlic, the boned forelegs of ham yellowed with bread crumbs, the blood puddings curled up like snakes, the terrines and pâtés, the sausages from Lyon and Arles, the jowls of salmon cooked à la génoise, the hundreds of cheeses resplendent beneath their glass bells, the perfumed melons and honeyed apricots

here was Dorothy, always knotted to the point of strangulation, aspiring to be what she was not, because of that parvenu prince. Mrs Hunter saw him: the groove in the lower lip, above the cleft chin, beneath the pink-shaded restaurant lights. She had ordered tournedos Lulu Watier. After the first shock of mutual disapproval, she felt that she and Hubert were enjoying each other. Alfred said, ‘Out with us, the food is plainer. We don’t feel the need to titillate our palates by dolling it up with a lot of seasoning and fancy sauces.’ He might have worsened the situation if she hadn’t kicked him under the table. They had gone over for the wedding because the old princess insisted she could not travel out to ce pays si lointain et inconnu. It was the first occasion the mountain hadn’t come to Elizabeth Hunter: she couldn’t very well believe it; nor that she would overlook the fact that her little Dorothy was being received into the Roman Catholic Church. But you did: at the nuptial mass there was your plain little girl in the dress by Lanvin tissé expres à la main à Lyon, and none of it could disguise the fact that you were prostituting your daughter to a prince, however desirably suave and hung with decorations. For one instant, out of the chanting and the incense, Elizabeth Hunter experienced a kind of spiritual gooseflesh.

The experiment was successful, and on January 30, 1828, the first bus in Paris traveled from the Madeleine to the Bastille. By 1832 Baudry’s rudimentary transit system had been copied in Bordeaux, Lyons, and London. Essentially, the omnibus combined the functions of the hackney and the stagecoach.31

Was it ghastly?" I remembered the sunlit summer of 1940, the crowds rushing from Paris, as from a fire, to join the snake-like lines of mattress-topped cars that drove slow, slower and slowest of all just before their closely packed passengers scattered into ditches where the dive bombers still found them. I remembered Nice with its sea and sky and palm trees still as bright as new travel posters and its sidewalks crowded with the most typical of twentieth-century tourists: displaced persons. I remembered the sensation of living in a dull fear-encircled vacuum and the incredulous joy with which I greeted my husband when he arrived hollow-eyed from his narrow escape and long hitch-hike across two countries. I remembered Lyons in the unheated winters, the wind scything between the cliff-like gray houses and inserting itself into the city's labyrinth of passageways. I remembered the turnip meals, the recurrent colds and chilblains, the disinclination to wash in icy water, the sordid temporary lodgings and false identity cards, the drearily uncomfortable atmosphere, and the exhilarating meetings with friends who had also escaped arrest. And then I remembered my husband's arrest and the nightmare that followed. "Yes," I said, repudiating stiff upper lips, "yes, it was ghastly.

This is not to say a writer has only one voice or is limited to the scope of her backyard. But in some sense her work must begin there, at the rootwad. And wherever she travels she must take that place with her, must feel in the dark of memory for its shape.

For a time he devoted himself to the study of the Scriptures and then (1180) gave himself to travelling and preaching, taking as a guide the Lord’s words: “He sent His disciples two and two before His face into every city and place whither He Himself would come. Therefore said He unto them, The harvest truly is great but the labourers are few: pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that He would send forth labourers into His harvest. Go your ways: behold I send you forth as lambs among wolves. Carry neither purse nor scrip nor shoes: and salute no man by the way.” Companions joined him, and, travelling and preaching in this way, came to be known as the “Poor Men of Lyons”. Their appeal for recognition (1179) to the third Lateran Council, under Pope Alexander III, had already been scornfully refused. They were driven out of Lyons by Imperial edict and (1184) excommunicated. Scattered over the surrounding countries, their preaching proved very effectual, and “Poor Men of Lyons” became one of the many names attached to those who followed Christ and His teaching. An inquisitor, David of Augsburg, says: “The sect of the Poor Men of Lyons and similar ones are the more dangerous the more they adorn themselves with the appearance of piety… their manner of life is, to outward appearance, humble and modest, but pride is in their hearts”; they say they have pious men among them, but do not see, he continues, “that we have infinitely more and better than they, and such as do not clothe themselves in mere appearance, whereas among the heretics all is wickedness covered by hypocrisy.

Angela winced at the outburst, but his temper calmed as suddenly as it had risen. ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep on doing that,’ she said pointedly. ‘Doing what?’ ‘Blowing up! One minute you’re all enthusiastic and exploring, the next you’re sulking and pouting and the next you’re screaming at the top of your voice to someone who isn’t even there.’ ‘I am sick of being manipulated! One day the High Council are putting me on trial, the next the Celestial Intervention Agency are forcing me to run missions for them.’ ‘So these mood swings aren’t a regular thing?’ ‘Remind me, why did I choose you as my companion?’ He turned and walked away. She hurried after him. ‘Because you need someone to show off to?’ That seemed to hit a nerve. ‘I’ll have you know, young lady, that I have no such “need” of anyone. I am the cat that walks alone in the darkness, the light that shines in Evil’s heart, the...’ ‘...vagrant who does odd jobs for the Time Lords?’ ‘We’ve been travelling together too long,’ he muttered.

Always recognize when enough is enough, when it is time to move on to the next adventure. Never cry over the past, over lost possessions, over people left behind. Instead, look forward to the next adventure, trusting in the fact that there are infinite possibilities out there, millions of people to meet and so many places to see and experience that it would take a hundred lifetimes to travel to half of them.

He’s quite tall with broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even his suit and tie cannot hide. My eyes continue their upward travel to his strong square-shaped face framed with brown curly hair that falls to his shoulders and deep, piercing blue eyes. The corners of his mouth curve upward when he notices me staring a moment too long.

Grand Tourists and their retinues typically crossed the choppy English Channel at the Port of Dover, stepping onto French soil in Calais. From there, the parties would set off on a three-day trek to Paris. Once fitted for new clothes, many proceeded to decamp for a season or longer for their first taste of Continental culture. (...) Not everyone took the same route. The more adventurous traveled from Paris to Lyon then farther south to Marseille, journeying by sea from Marseille to Livorno, in the Tuscany region, or Genoa, although the Italians’ lack of necessary sailing skills at that time made passage risky. Meanwhile, the wary typically trekked from Paris to Lyon then over the Alps. For the latter, Geneva was a subsequent stop, by default rather than preference. Despite the breathtaking beauty of the Alps, coaches—the mode of transport used at the time—simply could not traverse the treacherous Mont Cenis pass, ascending 6,827 feet. Invariably, the harrowing peaks and rocky precipices forced willing travelers to navigate by mule or sled. Regardless of the hassles, those who pressed on reaped extravagant rewards. (...) All roads, however, ultimately led to Rome, befitting its vaunted history as the intellectual, scientific and artistic center of the Renaissance and Baroque culture.

Every universe exists over every other universe. Like a million pictures on tracing paper, all with slight variations within the same frame. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics suggests there are an infinite number of divergent parallel universe. Every moment of your life you enter a new universe. With every decision you make. And traditionally it was thought that there could be no communication or transference between those worlds, even though they happen in the same space, even though they happen literally millimetres away from us. 'But what about us? We're doing that.' 'Exactly. I am here but I also know I am not here. I am also lying in a hospital in Paris, having an aneurysm. And I am also skydiving in Arizona. And travelling around southern India. And tasting wine in Lyon, and lying on a yacht off the Côte d'Azur.

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