Quotes About Neighborhood

Within a stone's throw of it.

A Missional Community is a group of approximately 20 to 40 people who are seeking to reach a particular neighborhood or network of relationships with the good news of Jesus. The group functions as a flexible, local expression of the church and has the expressed intention of seeing those they are in relationship with become followers of Jesus with them. They exist to see God's Kingdom come to their friends and neighbors.

Steering Trying to persuade tenants to go to a certain neighborhood or preventing them from going to a particular neighborhood.

Go that way, past the viaduct, and the wops will jump you, or chase you into Jew town...Polacks would stomp on you...Micks will shower you with Irish confetti from the brickyards.

So, for a variety of reasons, ranging from convenience to fear to economics, people stayed in their own neighborhood, loving it, enjoying the closeness, the friendliness, the familiarity, and trying to save enough money to move out.

Mozasu knew he was becoming one of the bad Koreans. Police officers often arrested Koreans for stealing or home brewing. Every week, someone on his street got in trouble with the police.

He had observed so many men just like himself over the years, men in retirement walking wee, quivery dogs over the streets of their neighborhood, a wrinkled plastic bag in their free hand;

the South Brooklyn seaside neighborhood was now showing signs of finally succumbing to the real estate developers. As the taxi wound through funky little side streets, I spotted a billboard advertising the IKEA warehouse located just off the Gowanus Expressway. Wine bars and condos wouldn't be far behind.

The telegraph may have made the country into "one neighborhood," but it was a peculiar one, populated by strangers who knew nothing but the most superficial facts about each other.

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

We find a place on the lower [sic] East Side," confesses one suburban couple in the genteel pages of the New Yorker: Ludlow Street. No one we know would think of living here. No one we know has ever heard of Ludlow Street.

I tried to picture a bunch of guys in blue suits running around a beachside neighborhood, knocking on doors and flashing Fed creds. That should cause a stampede of illegal aliens heading south.

Ensamhet sprider sig också mellan grannar, så att tio extra dagar med ensamhetskänslor leder till två extra dagar för personen på andra sidan staketet. Grannar och vänner som bor mer än en och en halv kilometer bort överför däremot inte ensamhetskänslor till varandra.

He says it like he's doing it for my protection. But I don't know if he's trying to protect me from this neighborhood, or from Jade. Both are appreciated though, so whatever.

i usedta live in the world then i moved to HARLEM & my universe is now six blocks

On the street, people are expected to fear and hate everyone but their own kind, but with all of us armed and watchful, people stared, but they let us alone. Our neighborhood is too small for us to play those kinds of games.

I didn't like them when I heard them. I liked them even less when I met them. They look at us as though we smell and they don't. Of course, it doesn't matter whether I like them or not. There are other people in the neighborhood whom I don't like. But I don't trust the Payne-Parrishes. The kids seem all right, but the adults. … I wouldn't want to have to depend on them. Not even for little things.

Y qué debería estar haciendo yo? ¿Qué puedo hacer? En menos de un año voy a tener dieciocho y seré adulta, una adulta sin más expectativas que la vida en nuestro barrio que se está desintegrando.

What I'd like to suggest in this three-day experiment is that all the important stuff you need to know is happening right outside your window, right there in your neighborhood, right in your own heart.

When we catch sight of the soul, we can become healers in a wounded world-in the family, in the neighborhood, in the workplace, and in political life-as we are called back to our "hidden wholeness" amid the violence of the storm.

Ever since, the Paris wherein I have tried to retrace her steps has remained as silent and deserted as it was on that day. I walk through empty streets. For me, they are always empty, even at dusk, during the rush hour, when the crowds are hurrying towards the mouths of the métro. I think of her in spite of myself, sensing an echo of her presence in this neighborhood or that.

On the sidewalk, dead leaves. Or burned pages from an old Gaffiot dictionary. It's the neighborhood of colleges and convents.

Number 18, Rue Dennequin.

The people of that neighborhood, it seems, take a peculiar interest in the support of the system of Slavery, flattering themselves, of course, that it is a patriotic love of the Union, and of justice, but like all the patriotism that goes by the name now-a-days, it is easily resolved into a base love of dollars and cents.