Quotes About City

One's emotions are intensified in Paris—one can be more happy and also more unhappy here than in any other place. But it is always a positive source of joy to live here, and there is nobody so miserable as a Parisian in exile from his town.

Peter) Easy to see in hindsight, but also easy to feel that, in another great city, on another continent, I was erasing her four years of unhappiness and setting her charmed life back on course.

The other women take it up and the street is filled with the sound, the city is filled with it; the country- Tunde thinks- must be full of this joyful warning. He is the only man here, the only one filming. This revolution feels like his personal miracle, a thing to overturn the world.

Nothing could be trusted in Chicago, especially the weather.

I hunger and thirst so for a bed on the ground that, once freed, I don't believe I can ever go into New York chains again. What a problem-- to have a primeval soul and one's home in New York!

Author reads for Seattle; it has always been his city. He reads for the buyer, who has always believed. Author reads one more time to his old man. He smiles at his reader, and reads on through the tears. Author reads on. And Author reads on.

American motor-and-music city of Detroit. Two centuries after the settlement's founding, Cadillac's name was a synonym for mass-produced luxury. He thus has the best name recognition today of any French colonist, and his memory resounds in countless song lyrics.

Rome is particularly lethal this summer.

Grim faced and forbidding Their faces closed tight An angular mass of New Yorkers Pacing in rhythm Race the oncoming night They chase through the streets of Manhattan Head first humanity Pause at a light Then flow through the streets of the city They seem oblivious To a soft spring rain Like an English rain So light, yet endless From a leaden sky

Brooklyn, and every now and then when we'd go visit them we'd stop on the Lower East Side to

Chicago is an October sort of city even in spring.

Chicago divided your heart. Leaving you loving the joint for keeps. Yet knowing it never can love you.

a city that was to live by night after the wilderness had passed. A city that was to forge out of steel and blood-red neon its own peculiar wilderness.

The great trains howling from track to track all night. The taut and telegraphic murmur of ten thousand city wires, drawn most cruelly against a city sky. The rush of city waters, beneath the city streets. The passionate passing of the night's last El.

It's the place built out of Man's ceaseless failure to overcome himself. Out of Man's endless war against himself we build our successes as well as our failures. Making it the city of all cities most like Man himself— loneliest creation of all this very old poor earth.

Big-shot town, small-shot town, jet-propelled old-fashioned town, by old-world hands with new-world tools built into a place whose heartbeat carries farther than its shout, whose whispering in the night sounds less hollow than its roistering noontime laugh: they have builded a heavy-shouldered laughter here who went to work too young.

The city divided by the river is further divided by racial and lingual differences.

We would fight not for the political future of a distant city, rather for principles whose destruction would ruin the possibility of peace and security for the peoples of the earth.

The dark is settling in. The sky glows yellow- pale- anemic from the city lights. The Tenderloin at night is a real horror show. Every 3 feet someone is accosting you with a plea for a handout or the offer of drug or sex. The men and women wander the streets and alleys with a threatening, violont want. Takers looking to take, hustlers looking to hustle, all trying to satisfy a craving that is parpatually unsatisfiable. And tonight I'm one of them.

The sun's still keeping the sky somewhat colored, even though it's already gone down beyond the horizon. There are strips of patterned pinks and oranges layered up like sideways colored bars. A Los Angeles sunset, made beautiful by a screen of haze, pollution, and trash. It says a lot about this city. It says a lot about the people who live here.

Laughing like crazy the child goes back to the city gives birth to monsters creates earthquakes hairy women run naked old folks who look like fetuses laugh and smoke.

It was the most silent, beautiful city I had ever been in, and I found myself wishing, once or twice, that I was here alone, not worrying about our relationship, not having to make an effort. I would have walked and walked along the deserted paths, not speaking, storing everything up. I wouldn't have minded the rain.

That was one reason why she got up in the middle of the night. The streets and lights and noises and smells of the city, the cold air of the very early morning, they were a way of controlling her thinking, of calming it, damping it down.

except in one crucial particular. It wasn't London.