Quotes About Neighborhood

The University of Chicago organized and guided property owners' associations that were devoted to preventing black families from moving nearby. The university not only subsidized the associations but from 1933 to 1947 spent $100,000 on legal services to defend covenants and evict African Americans who had arrived in its neighborhood.

ALONG WITH THE real estate industry and state courts, the FHA justified its racial policies—both its appraisal standards and its restrictive covenant recommendations—by claiming that a purchase by an African American in a white neighborhood, or the presence of African Americans in or near such a neighborhood, would cause the value of the white-owned properties to decline.

The full cycle went like this: when a neighborhood first integrated, property values increased because of African Americans' need to pay higher prices for homes than whites. But then property values fell once speculators had panicked enough white homeowners into selling at deep discounts.

Denver, 1961. When a few African Americans moved to a middle-class white neighborhood, speculators panicked white homeowners into selling at a deep discount.

First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt protested to the president. The FWA again reversed course and assigned African Americans to the Sojourner Truth project. Whites in the neighborhood rioted, leading to one hundred arrests (all but three were African Americans) and thirty-eight hospitalizations (all but five were African Americans).

Not infrequently, parents fail to help children grasp their responsibility for a community. Often we as parents don't convey to our children that they have obligations to small communities like a sports team or a school choir or a dance troupe. How many of us ever simply mention to our children that a school is not just a place to learn but a community, or that a neighborhood is a community that carries obligations?

I enjoyed living here. Nobody gets drunk and nobody gets battered.

Ted Kemp lived in a residential development six blocks west of the highway. The homes were small, set close, and identical, as if the developer's plan had been to cap the land with beige stucco, clay tile, and anonymity

The Los Angeles Police Department was surrounding their neighborhood like a gathering thunderstorm. A

Nobu Ishida had lived in an older split-level house on a Leave-It-to-Beaver street in Cheviot Hills, a couple of miles south of the Twentieth Century-Fox lot. It was dark, just after nine when we rolled past his home, rounded the block, and parked at the curb fifty yards up the street. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.

I glanced at Pike, but Pike was staring out the front door. Intimidating the neighborhood. I said, "Maybe he mentioned a buddy who worked at a Shell Station or an ex-con he would have drinks with.

It was quiet, this late, there in the peaceful neighborhood. The porches were empty. The old people and the families were sleeping. Cars were parked and streets were empty except for Pike and the five cousins, there in the cone of blue light.

Good fences make good neighbors.

He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, Good fences make good neighbors.

And good neighbors make a huge difference in the quality of life. I agree.

Always trust your fellow man. And always cut the cards. Always trust God. And always build your house on high ground. Always love thy neighbor. And always pick a good neighborhood to live in.

Rachel?" came Ivy's voice from her room. "Where's my sword?" The gray dimness of the hallway was soothing as I headed to the kitchen and my charms. "In the foyer where you left it last week when the evangelists were canvassing the neighborhood

She began to scream at the top of her lungs, "I wanna die! I wanna die! I'm gonna kill myself! I wanna die!" Everyone in the neighborhood could hear her.

If more people understood how nice it is to have a sense of home that extends past our locked doors, past our neighbors' padlocks, to the local food co-op and library, the sidewalks busted up by old trees - if we all held home with longer arms - we'd live in a very different place.

He put on his hat and wrapped his scarf around his jaw, but did without the wig and the sunglasses. He clicked his key chain and the car beeped and the doors locked. "That's it?" He looked up. "Sorry?" "Aren't you afraid it might get stolen? We're not exactly in a good part of town." "It's got a car alarm." "Don't you, like, cast a spell or something? To keep it safe?" "No. It's a pretty good car alarm.

People ostensibly turning a blind eye to their neighbors' activities while really harvesting and analyzing every last detail of their lives. The ingredients for their dinners. The color of their underwear, purchased in the local Ben Franklin. Who is sick, who is well, who is adulterous.

I just happened to be in the neighborhood, walking my dog..." This was sounding lame. "Several miles from my home,in the middle of the night,in the snow.And I found myself in your backyard." His eyes flew open. "With the cats?" "If that's what you call them.

What are you doing here?" "I just happened to be in the neighborhood, walking my dog . . ." This was sounding lame. ". . . several miles from my home, in the middle of the night, in the snow. And I found myself in your backyard.

He says with patented Smirk Number Three." Devon shook his head and made a sound somwhere in the neighborhood of tsk-tsk. "You're getting rusty, Bronwyn. That was clearly Smirk Number Two: sardonic with a side of wit.