Quotes About Streets

He was tall and abrupt and exactly the kind of guy you wanted to be walking the streets with.

I tell me: Let these words be footsteps, because I have a long way to travel. Let the words walk the dirty streets. Let them make their way across the crying grass. Let them stand and breathe and pant smoke in winter evenings. And when they're tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet ad arc around me, watchful. I want these words to be actions. Give them flesh and bones, I say to me, and eyes of hunger and desire, so they can write and fight me through the night.

Very few people will rise to the heights of genius in the arts and the sciences; very few collectively will rise to certain professions. Most of us will have to be content to work in the fields and in the factories and on the streets. But we must see the dignity of all labor.

There is fear hanging in the air of the sleeping halls, and the air of the streets. Fear walks through the city, fear without name, without shape. All men feel it and none dare speak.

I love the streets, and the streets love me back. And when things ain't going the way they should go, they let you know... and when they happy, you gotta keep 'em happy.

Le Marais?' 'It's a little district in the centre of Paris. It is full of cobbled streets and teetering apartment blocks and gay men and orthodox Jews and women of a certain age who once looked like Brigitte Bardot. It's the only place to stay.

We reached the outskirts of town shortly before eleven. Summer had brought the tourists flocking back to the narrow streets of Stortfold.

Le Marais?" "It's a little district in the center of Paris. It is full of cobbled streets and teetering apartment blocks and gay men and orthodox Jews and women of a certain age who once looked like Brigitte Bardot. It's the only place to stay.

Sung sirens, sliding through the streets, streaking blue light from distress to distress, the slow wail weaving urgency through the darkest of the dark hours, a lament lifted high, held above the rooftops and fading away, lifted high, flashing past, fading away.

The carriage was frequently halted by the mass of vehicles which made London's streets increasingly noisy and dangerous. Drivers cursed and cracked their whips, horses snorted and whinnied until they surged forward again with a rattle of wheels and a tattoo of hooves, only to meet with an immobile line of traffic at the next junction.

Vociferous international audiences thronged the streets. Actually, it is nothing more nor less than an Italian version of Birmingham.

formal declaration of jihad in Constantinople, followed by well-organized demonstrations on the streets."32 Proclamations and pamphlets were distributed.

I understand the Second Amendment. I respect the Second Amendment. I think we need to use common sense tools to keep the American people safe, to keep our streets safe.

Borges mira a Buenos Aires desde un espacio recordado, un espacio mítico que él mismo, más que recibir del pasado, impulsa como su propia novedad en la literatura argentina: la ciudad criolla que persiste en la ciudad moderna, la llanura pampeana que se refleja en el patio, en los cercos vivos del suburbio, en las calles "sin vereda de enfrente", es decir las calles que tocan la pampa y se pierden en la extensión de un paisaje familiar.

There are at least two hundred of them. And if you should read them all through at one sitting you would get a strange sense that this caricature of the hooded face was talking to you. That the Queer One who shuffles through the streets was sitting beside you and whispering marvelous things into your ear.

Worry sits on the countenance of nearly every season ticket-holder in the morning train and in the evening train. You see it in the streets, offices, and restaurants, and you can even meet it in the country lanes. The habit of worrying infallibly leaves its mark, and the mark is there for all to notice.

to each man a city consists of no more than a few streets, a few houses, a few people. Remove those few and a city exists no longer except as a pain in the memory...

As we walked, it occurred to me that the slum had been strangely devoid of pariah dogs. I noticed that there were none visible anywhere on the streets.

And there were more smiles in the eyes on those crowded streets than in any other place I'd ever known.

My father took me back home, back to Greenwich Village, and he thought by taking me out of the orphanage he'd be out of the World War too. But no way - they got him anyway. He went in the Navy and then I lived on the streets.

In 'A Bone in the Throat,' he describes his protagonist and alter ego, the cook Tommy Pagano, as 'darker, and not as tall as the chef, his hair stood up straight and spiky like a young Trotsky's.' He describes Little Italy with such verve, such flavor, that it is impossible not to smell the streets or taste the food.

We now think it hilarious that medieval streets were used as open sewers. Equally, our descendants will say: 'You won't believe this, but people were once allowed to hurl a couple of tons of dangerous metal around smashing into each other.'

I take a very different approach to public service. I'm a person that always takes it out in the streets and in the courts... the tool box that is attached to me is very diverse.

I understand the Second Amendment. I respect the Second Amendment. I think we need to use common sense tools to keep the American people safe, to keep our streets safe.