“Lots of cosy sky That God and I can share. I need air. I need air.”

Just look at it. No wonder so many artists have come here and called it home. Brother.

Snow can burn your eyes but only people make you cry.

Thank heaven for little girls! For little girls get bigger every day.

Pull out the stopper! Let’s have a whopper! / But get me to the church on time!.

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.

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

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?