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About Strasbourg

Oi, you lot, listen up! I’m Cersei bleedin’ Lannister, cold as ice, and I reckon this erotic-massage malarkey’s a right laugh—or a bloody disgrace, depends how ya squint at it. “I choose violence,” I’d snarl, ‘cept this ain’t about swords, it’s hands slippin’ over skin, all oiled up and dodgy. Me, I’d rather watch Spotlight—y’know, that flick where journos rip the world open like a ripe peach? “The power of denial,” they’d say, and ain’t that the truth with these rub-downs? Folk pretend it’s all posh and proper, but nah, it’s sweaty palms and sly winks.

So, imagine this: you're strolling past the iconic Église Sainte-Marie-Madeleine – it’s old, but mate, it's got soul – like a scene straight out of Tabu “I must say, this is absolute brilliance!” and every moment feels like déjà vu. I often get lost in my own thoughts, just soaking in the atmosphere. And speaking of soaking up, oh man, the sunsets over the Mediterranean? Unreal. I swear, sometimes I just wanna stand, stare, and go: "This is it, this is life."

Masterpiece Paintings by Paul Cezanne at Christie’s 20th Century Evening Sale