Quotes About Village

New York is to the nation what the white church spire is to the village — the visible symbol of aspiration and faith, the white plume saying the way is up!

He is an aggregate who must shoulder the burden of village, family, parents, ancestors. . . . When the first missionary to Japan, Francisco Xavier, began his labours in the southern provinces, this was the most formidable obstacle he encountered. The Japanese said, "I believe the Christian teachings are good. But I would be betraying my ancestors if I went to a Paradise where they cannot dwell."[1]

He was more skilled than they were in the principles of human existence, but he was not so indecently familiar with the examples. A sordid village scandal—such as Stephen described as a huge joke—sprang from certain defects in human nature, with which he was theoretically acquainted. But the example!

In our village back home, marriages were always between people who had known each other their whole lives. And all the boys I had known were dead. So I thought I would never get married. I thought I could never marry someone I hadn't known from when I was a child.

Memory is a house with ten thousand rooms; it is a village slated to be inundated." from "Village 113

Memory is a house with ten thousand rooms; it is a village slated to be inundated.

You don't want to be hanging around this village. You don't want to be anywhere near here. Do you understand me? I shouldn't be talking to you like this. But if you know what's good for you, you'll get away. You'll go as far away as you can and you won't come back.

He paused. 'There is something about the village of Saxby-on-Avon that concerns me,' he went on. 'I have spoken to you before of the nature of human wickedness, my friend. How it is the small lies and evasions which nobody sees or detects but which can come together and smother you like the fumes in a house fire.' He turned and surveyed the surrounding buildings, the shaded square. 'They are all around us.

There was something deeply offensive about turning a tiny incident, a tragedy in an English village, into some sort of Mills & Boon morality tale, and reading it, I felt less bad about her review of Mindgame.

Emotions which are quickly lost in the noise and chaos of the city fester around the village square, driving people to psychosis and violence.

Ella's supersonic voice followed her all the way to Bleecker Street and then dissolved amid the noisy profusion of shops, cafes, and restaurants and the crush of people that made the West Village of Manhattan unique in the world. In a single block you could buy fertility statues from Tanzania, rare Amazonian orchids, a pawned brass tuba, Krispy Kreme doughnuts, or the best, most expensive cup of coffee you ever tasted. It was the doughnuts, incidentally, that attracted Gaia.

There can be only one global village. These structures were the greatest business opportunities ever imagined—and only the innocence of faith could blind one to the possibility that they would fall into the hands of big firms.

Vivira is less than forty miles north of Mazatlan," Frank said, examining a road map. "Just off the main road." A little over an hour passed before the Hardys and Chet arrived in Vivira. It was a quiet little village with many trees, and a fountain in the center of a small plaza.

Joe grinned. "We might never get Chet to leave this place!" Guests from the village began coming shortly after sunset. As the festivities got underway, torches were lighted to illuminate the area. One man arrived leading a bull and put it in the corral. Many of the younger villagers swarmed around the enclosure to see it.

building that served as a cantina and general store. There were no villagers in sight.

In another five minutes they reached a tiny village which consisted of a general store, a garage, a church, and a few homes. Frank parked the car. "Peaceful-looking place," he remarked. "I wonder if we'll find a clue here.

There's no quiet place here on earth for our love, not in the village and not anywhere else, so I picture a grave, deep and narrow, in which we embrace as if clamped together, I bury my face against you, you yours against me, and no one will ever see us.

I was heading for the city in the south, of which they used to say in our village: 'There are people for you! Just think—they never go to sleep!' 'And why don't they?' 'Because they're fools.' 'Don't fools get tired, then?' 'How could fools get tired?

Britain has some of the finest climbing on the planet, with a sense of wilderness that rivals anywhere else on earth. You can be on a rock face watching crashing waves and feeling a million miles away but because we're a small isle, you're never really that remote; there's always a village nearby.

I like a kind of quiet place - Wimbledon Village, for example.

In my childhood dreams, I pictured Italy as paradise. I longed to be the next Sophia Loren, living in a village with winding cobbled streets where washing hung from windows and everybody gesticulated and shouted amicably. Ah, but life surprises.

I think winning at Wimbledon's huge. This is the biggest tournament in tennis for so many different reasons. You can see the history around the grounds. The Village around you, everyone lives for it.

A lot of skaters hole themselves up in hotels and focus - and that's great, and that may work for them. But for me, having the Olympic experience was as great as winning the medal. I have so many memories of living in the village and meeting other athletes, seeing other sports, and feeling the energy. It's so magical.

But in my imagination this whole thing developed and I started mixing up old folk songs with the Beatles beat and taking them down to Greenwich Village and playing them for the people there.