“Mud can make you prisoner and the plains can make you dry.”

An Englishmans way of speaking absolutely classifies him.

If you can’t paint in Paris, you’d better give up and marry the boss’s daughter.

For a painter, the Mecca of the world for study, for inspiration, and for living is here on this star called Paris.

I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I’ve never done before.

A third took the photographs. Another put the sketches in an exhibition, then into magazines, then in a book.

Coughing in the theater is not a respiratory ailment. It is a criticism.

We used to say that inside Cecil Beaton there was another Cecil Beaton sending out lots of little Cecils into the world. One did the sets, another did the costumes.

Youth has many glories, but judgement is not one of them, and no amount of electronic amplification can turn a belch into an aria.

Back home everyone said I didn’t have any talent. They might be saying the same thing over here, but it sounds better in French.

On a clear day, on a clear day, you can see forever, and ever, and ever more.

Why can’t the English teach their children how to speak?

Why can’t a woman be more like a man?

You write a hit the same way you write a flop.

The female sex has no greater fan than I, and I have the bills to prove it.

The winter is forbidden till December, And exits March the second on the dot.

Stay close to the young… and a little rubs off.

Only god can bring dry bones back to life.

Only god can bring dry bones back to life.

My spirit has become dry because it forgets to feed on You.

When you accept the fact that sometimes seasons are dry and times are hard and that God is in control of both, you will discover a sense of divine refuge, because the hope then is in God and not in yourself.

When you accept the fact that sometimes seasons are dry and times are hard and that God is in control of both, you will discover a sense of divine refuge, because the hope then is in God and not in yourself.

Love is like dried flowers sometimes. Even though you watch the petals shrink and change colour, you cannot help treasuring them.

Lips getting dried, heart pumping faster, sweat seeping through the pores, cheeks turning red. Dear summer, stop acting like my lover.

Happiness is a very pretty thing to feel, but very dry to talk about.