The best of Doisneau Paris

« There are days when the mere act of seeing feels like pure joy. You’re buoyant, so buoyant—cops halt the traffic to let you cross. You feel so rich that you want to share your overflowing joy with others. ‘It’s Sunday every day!’ as the song by Prévert goes.
The memory of such moments is the most precious thing I own. Maybe because they’re so rare.
One-hundredth of a second here, one-hundredth of a second there: added all together that still makes only one, two, maybe three seconds snatched from eternity. »
Robert Doisneau