He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called,'La belle dame sans mercy'.john keats: 1820 Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Poems,'The Eve of St. Agnes', stanza 33.
Is it any better in Heaven, my friend Ford, Than you found it in Provence?william carlos williams: 1944 TheWedge,'To Ford Madox Ford in Heaven'.
La vertu, mignonne, est un principe dont les manifestations diffèrent selon les milieux: la vertu de Provence, celle de Constantinople, celle de Londres et celle de Paris ont des effets parfaitement dissemblables sans cesser d’être la vertu.honoré de balzac: Virtue, my pet, is an abstract idea, varying in its manifestations with the surroundings. Virtue in Provence, in Constantinople, in London, and in Paris bears very different fruit, but is none the less virtue.Part I, ch. XVIII
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd "La belle dame sans mercy."john keats: Stanza 33. (The Eve of St. Agnes)
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."John Keats, The Eve of St. Agnes, Stanza 33. "La Belle Dame, sans Merci" is a poem by Alain Chartier. Attributed to Jean Marot by M. Paulin—Manuscript Français, VII. 252. In Harleian Manuscript, 373, a translation is attributed to Sir Richard Ros.
They were ordinary soldiers, just the common Jean and Hans, One from the valley of the Rhine and one from fair Provence. They were simple-hearted fellows every night each said his prayer: The one prayed Vater Unser and the other Notre Père.Charles Alex Richmond, Lord's Prayer.
The first war had ruined him. He had volunteered, though he was over military age and was fighting a country he loved; his health was broken, and he came back to a new literary world which had carefully eliminated him. For some of his later work he could not even find a publisher in England. No wonder he preferred to live abroad in Provence or New York. But I don't suppose failure disturbed him much: he had never really believed in human happiness, his middle life had been made miserable by passion, and he had come through with his humour intact, his stock of unreliable anecdotes, the kind of enemies a man ought to have, and a half-belief in a posterity which would care for good writing.Graham Greene, in "Ford Madox Ford," Collected Essays (1951), Part II: Novels and Novelists, p. 124 [Viking/Penguin, ISBN 0-14-003159-6]