Quotes About City

New York, New York,A helluva town.The Bronx is up and the Battery's down,And people ride in a hole in the ground.New York, New York,It's a helluva town!

There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.

A brother offended is harder to be won than a strong city: and their contentions are like the bars of a castle.

How You Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm After They've Seen Paree?

A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.

Brought up in this city at the feet of Gamaliel.

How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! how is she become as a widow!

Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city.

Up and down the City Road,In and out the Eagle,That's the way the money goes—Pop goes the weasel!

She was poor but she was honest,And her parents was the same,Till she met a city feller,And she lost her honest name.

There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.

I [Paul] am… a Jew of Tarsus, a city in Cilicia, a citizen of no mean city.

Ab urbe condita [Since the founding of the city (Rome)].

Que diferença de Lisboa. Não se pode viver numa cidade sem passado.»

But God is only a white cold eye, a quarter-moon poised above the smoke, blinking, blinking, as the city is gradually pounded to dust.

All her life she has been led to believe that she is a child born at the end of things: the empire, the era, the reign of men on earth. But in the glow of the scribes' enthusiasm, she senses that in a city like Urbino, beyond the horizon, other possibilities might exist, and in daydreams she takes flight across the Aegean, through her spread fingers, until she alights in a bright clean palace, full of Justice and Moderation, its rooms lined with books, free to anyone who can read them.

And yet everything radiates tension, as if the city has been built upon the skin of a balloon and someone is inflating it toward the breaking point.

So many windows are dark. It's as if the city has become a library of books in an unknown language, the houses great shelves of illegible volumes, the lamps all extinguished. But there is a machine in the attic at work again. A spark in the night.

Those last nights in Paris, walking home with her father at midnight, the huge book clasped against her chest, Marie-Laure thinks she can sense a shiver beneath the air, in the pauses between the chirring of the insects, like the spider cracks of ice when too much weight is set upon it. As if all this time the city has been no more than a scale model built by her father and the shadow of a great hand has fallen over it.

Out here the prisoners see the shells smash into the city before they hear them. During the last war, Etienne knew artillerymen who could peer through field glasses and discern their shells' damage by the colors thrown skyward. Gray was stone. Brown was soil. Pink was flesh.

The city, thinks Marie-Laure, is slowly being remade into the model upstairs. Streets sucked empty one by one.

I didn't belong here, high on a crag, among rocks and thorns; I belonged high in the blue, sailing through the clouds, heading to the city where there is no baking sun nor icy wind, where the zephyrs nourish every flower and the hills are always clad in green and no one wants for anything. What a fool I was. What was this hunger that drove me to seek more than what I already had?

The city seems utterly still, as though everyone is listening, waiting for someone to slip.