When I stand at the top of the Champs-Elysées, with its chestnut trees in flower, its undulations of shining cars, its white spaciousness, I feel as if I were biting into a utopian fruit, something velvety and lustrous and rich and vivid.
Too often they don't realize what they have until it's gone. . . . they're too stubborn to say, 'Sorry, I was wrong' they hurt the ones closest to their hearts, and we let the most foolish things tear us apart