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French Quotes

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French Quotes

“After the mother tongue follows French, for it is the most widely spoken and indispensable language of Europe; according to our present-day standards it is the most cultivated; fine style and the expressions of taste have been for the most part formed in this language and translated from it into others; it is the simplest and most uniform of languages from which to obtain a foretaste of philosophical grammar; it is the most suitable for the purposes of narrative, logic and reasoning. It must therefore, by the standards of our modern world, follow immediately after the mother tongue and precede every other, even Latin. I would like even the scholar to know French better than Latin!”

FrenchFrench Language
Book:Journal meiner Reise im Jahre 1769: Historisch-kritische Ausgabe
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“For the weekend before, we had had a blowout of tarts, a tart bender, tart madness- even, I dare say, a Tart-a-pa-looza, if you will forgive one final usage of the construction before we at last bury that cruelly beaten dead pop-culture horse. Tarte aux Pêches, Tarte aux Limettes, Tarte aux Poires, Tarte aux Cerises. Tarte aux Fromage Frais, both with and without Pruneaux. Tarte aux Citron et aux Amandes, Tarte aux Poires à la Bourdalue, and Tarte aux Fraises, which is not "Tart with Freshes," as the name of the Tarte aux Fromage Frais ("Tart with Fresh Cheese," of course) might suggest, but rather Tart with Strawberries, which was a fine little French lesson. (Why are strawberries, in particular, named for freshness? Why not blackberries? Or say, river trout? I love playing amateur- not to say totally ignorant- etymologist....) I made two kinds of pastry in a kitchen so hot that, even with the aid of a food processor, the butter started melting before I could get it incorporated into the dough. Which work resulted in eight tart crusts, perhaps not paragons of the form, but good enough. I made eight fillings for my eight tart crusts. I creamed butter and broke eggs and beat batter until it formed "the ribbon." I poached pears and cherries and plums in red wine.”

FruitBakingFrenchFreshnessPastriesFillingsTart
Book:Julie & Julia: My Year of Cooking Dangerously
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“Pour le commun des mortelles trans, la route était barrée dès le début. Pas de taf, pas de mariage, pas de bébé, et, si une femme trans pouvait être une muse, personne ne voulait d'une œuvre où elle s'exprime elle-même. C'est ainsi que, par défaut, les femmes trans dérivèrent dans une sorte de no-futurisme là où d'autres queers célèbrent l'ironie, la joie et la mort dans lesquelles iels se précipitent. Cette dérive vers le nihilisme paraissait bien plus glamour quand le corps devenu cadavre était un choix sauvage et volontaire plutôt qu'une probabilité statistique”

QueerFrenchNihilismeTransfem
Book:Detransition, Baby
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“Deep, fluting emotions were a form of weakness. She'd seen the softening in her work over the years, she'd started making the lazy, homey treats like apple crumble, chocolate muffins, butterscotch pudding, and lemon bars. They were fast and cheap and they pleased her children. But she'd trained at one of the best pastry programs in the country. Her teachers were French. She'd learned the classical method of making fondant, of making real buttercream with its spun-candy base and beating the precise fraction off egg into the pate a choux. She knew how to blow sugar into glassine nests and birds and fountains, how to construct seven-tiered wedding cakes draped with sugar curtains copied from the tapestries at Versailles. When the other students interned at the Four Seasons, the French Laundry, and Dean & Deluca, Avis had apprenticed with a botanical illustrator in the department of horticulture at Cornell, learning to steady her hand and eye, to work with the tip of the brush, to dissect and replicate in tinted royal icing and multihued glazes the tiniest pieces of stamen, pistil, and rhizome. She studied Audubon and Redoute. At the end of her apprenticeship, her mentor, who pronounced the work "extraordinary and heartbreaking," arranged an exhibition of Avis's pastries at the school. "Remembering the Lost Country" was a series of cakes decorated in perfectly rendered sugar olive branches, cross sections of figs, and frosting replicas of lemon leaves. Her mother attended and pronounced the effect 'amusant.”

ArtBakingFrenchPastriesPastry ChefAvis Muir
Book:Birds of Paradise
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“But genius, and even great talent, springs less from seeds of intellect and social refinement superior to those of other people than from the faculty of transforming and transposing them. To heat a liquid with an electric lamp requires not the strongest lamp possible, but one of which the current can cease to illuminate, can be diverted so as to give heat instead of light. To mount the skies it is not necessary to have the most powerful of motors, one must have a motor which, instead of continuing to run along the earth's surface, intersecting with a vertical line the horizontal line which it began by following, is capable of converting its speed into lifting power. Similarly, the men who produce works of genius are not those who live in the most delicate atmosphere, whose conversation is the most brilliant or their culture the most extensive, but those who have had the power, ceasing suddenly to live only for themselves, to transform their personality into a sort of mirror, in such a way that their life, however mediocre it may be socially and even, in a sense, intellectually, is reflected by it, genius consisting in reflecting power and not int he intrinsic quality of the scene reflected.”

TimeSocialTalentGeniusIntellectFrenchSeedProust
Book:Within a Budding Grove, Part 2
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“Driven by heartache, she beat the eggs even more vigorously until the glossy meringue quickly formed into stiff, bird's beak peaks. "Philippe, do you have any orange liqueur?" Marie asked, rummaging through her brother's pantry. "Here it is," Philippe said, handing a corked bottle to her. "What are you making?" "A bûche de Noël," Danielle said, concentrating on her task. Carefully measuring each rationed ingredient, she combined sugar and flour in another bowl, grated orange zest, added the liqueur, and folded the meringue into the mixture. "It's not Christmas without a traditional Yuletide log." Marie ran a finger down a page of an old recipe book, reading directions for the sponge cake, or biscuit. "'Spread into a shallow pan and bake for ten minutes.'" "I wouldn't know about that," Philippe said. "I don't celebrate your husband's holiday," he said pointedly to Marie. "Let's not dredge up that old argument, mon frère," Marie said, softening her words with a smile. "I converted for love." A knock sounded at the front door. Danielle threw a look of concern toward Philippe, who hurried to answer it. "Then we'll cool it," Danielle said, trying to stay calm. "And brush the surface with coffee liqueur and butter cream frosting, roll it like a log, and decorate." She thought about the meringue mushrooms she had made with Nicky last year, and how he had helped score the frosting to mimic wood grains.”

ChristmasCakeBakingDessertFrenchLogMeringueYuletide
Book:Scent of Triumph
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“I soon graduated to Comté, a hard, fruity cheese that when aged has the sweetness and flake of Parmesan, and tête de moines (literally, "a monk's head"), made from sheep's milk. Bleu d' Auvergne, my favorite blue cheese, had nothing much in common with the crumbs I'd seen at home on a California Cobb salad. It was so dense it resembled a hunk of butter, coursing with violet veins. For the wedding, Gwendal also wanted Salers, a cheese from Cantal with an almost peppery after-bite. It is made in huge tomes that, when you cut a slice, leave crags as in the side of a cliff. Monsieur Gilot kindly suggested a milder entre-deux (literally, "in between"), but Gwendal held his ground. As a last choice, we took a tomme de chèvre frais, a round of fresh mild goat cheese the color of newly fallen snow.”

FrenchCheesesComteFromage
Book:Lunch in Paris: A Love Story, with Recipes
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“Bonjour madame!” , he was coming out of the bathroom when he saw her in the corridor. He was in his blue towel, wrapped around his well built waistline. Rrlene blushed as she saw him semi naked but couldn’t help looking at his bare chest, which ran down to his flat stomach, further covered down by his long towel. His hair all wet, and there were still droplets on his shoulders. She was moving her eyes carefully from one part to another, appreciating everything she saw with her soft gaze, which was kind of stuck on his muscled up chest and she wondered he must have done a lot of tour de france and twisted her lips with a naughty smile.”

RomancePassionFrenchSao Paulo
Author:Ruche La
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“One has much wealth; his wife, so sweet and yet so bold, Distributes it to those who'll crown him a cuckold. The other, still a wretch, but with a kinder fate, Observing gifts presented to his lifelong mate, Maintains his peace of mind free from all jealousy, For she says her virtue attracts this gallantry.”

PlayComedyFrenchTranslationMoliereRhymed
Book:Molière The School for Wives: A Translation in Rhymed Verse
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“She returned to the kitchen, where she'd been making sugared flowers. Mint leaves, tiny violets and old-fashioned rose petals, heavy with perfume, lay on the counter. Very gently she dipped each one into the stiff egg whites, then in confectioners' sugar, and then placed them on the baking sheet, which she put in the warm oven, the door ajar. It gave the room the scent of a garden, heady and sweet. Sabine had planned to store the sweets in canning jars- there were still a few gaskets and lids left- and save them for cake. When she was a child, her grand-mère had once made her a Saint-Honoré for her birthday. It was the most wondrous cake in the world. Not a cake at all but a composition of tiny puffs of choux pastry filled with vanilla cream, very much like profiteroles, but molded together with caramel and covered with whipped chantilly cream fresh from the dairy. Her grand-mère decorated it with candied flowers and mint leaves. Sabine never had anything like it before or since and suddenly wanted to make that cake again.”

FlowersFrenchPastriesCreamsGrand MereSabine Monte Carlo
Book:White Truffles in Winter
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“Knowing people can mean so many things. It's like books: there are plenty of gradations between the books one has read and those one hasn't. There are the books one has heard of, those with a plot or style we already know by heart, those we can tell by their cover, those whose jacket copy we've read. Those we want to read and those we never will. One can also read a book and forget it -- in fact, that's my specialty -- or just skim through it. It's the same with people.”

FrenchLiteraryIn Translation
Book:The Suitors: A Novel
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“En la forest de Longue Attente chevauchant par divers sentiers m'en voys, ceste année présente où voyage de Desiriers. Devant sont aller mes fourriers pour appareiller mon logis en la Cité de Destinée. Et pout mon cœur et moy ont pris l'ostellerie de Pensée. Dedans mon livre de pensée j'ay trouvé escripvant mon cœur la vraie histoire de douleur de larmes toute enluminée. In het Woud van Lang Verwachten te paard op pad, dolenderwijs, zie ik mijzelf dit jaar bij machte tot Verlangens' verre reis. Mijn knechtstoet is vooruitgegaan om 't nachtverblijf vast te bereiden, vond in Bestemming's Stad gereed voor dit mijn hart, en mij ons beiden, de herberg, die Gedachte heet. In 't boek van mijn gepeinzen al vond ik dan, schrijvende, mijn hart; het waar verhaal van bitt're smart verlucht met tranen zonder tal. Charles d'Orléans”

MedievalForestFrenchFrench PoetryMedieval LiteratureMedieval Poetry
Book:In a Dark Wood Wandering: A Novel of the Middle Ages
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“Do you come from a family of cooks?" I ask as I rasp the cheese against the prickly grater, trying to distract myself from the familiar smells and sounds. "Kind of. My grandma used to be an amazing cook. Her mother had emigrated from Alsace-Lorraine, so she knew how to make all of these incredible French-German dishes---curly endive salad with bacon dressing, sausages with sauerkraut, green bean stew with potatoes and bacon. When I'd come to visit for lunch, she'd make me radish sandwiches on white bread with salt and butter." "Sounds like the answer is yes, then." "Not exactly. That was my dad's mom. My mom's mom stored cereal and wine in her oven.”

CookingFrenchGermanFamily Background
Book:A Second Bite at the Apple
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“L'appartement rue Chénier ne sera jamais réparé de l'intérieur j'ai regardé la rue sa ligne de fuite son orme au bout seul arbre digne je t'ai bercé la nuit la neige tournoyait dans le halo du lampadaire belle lune de ville les planches craquaient sous la chaise cet hiver-là je croyais que tous dormaient sauf toi et moi l'appartement rue Chénier ne sera jamais réparé je passe devant je me dis cela.”

PoetryFrenchQuébec
Book:Déjà le fruit
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“...[G]reat progress was evident in the last Congress of the American 'Labour Union' in that among other things, it treated working women with complete equality. While in this respect the English, and still more the gallant French, are burdened with a spirit of narrow-mindedness. Anybody who knows anything of history knows that great social changes are impossible without the feminine ferment. Social progress can be measured exactly by the social position of the fair sex (the ugly ones included).”

HumorHistoryProgressFeminismEqualitySocial ChangeFrenchEnglishAmericanLabor Union
Book:Selected Letters: The Personal Correspondence 1844-1877
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