Quotes About Street

He was always reading. With his street kid clients, the popular belief was that he was searching for an elusive gap that existed somewhere in his books, hidden between lines or letters. One that would allow him, once and for all, to crawl inside the pages and disappear.

Already many of the memories of the previous two weeks had faded: the smell of that small hotel in St. Andrews; that mixture of bacon cooking for breakfast and the lavender-scented soap in the bathroom; the air from the sea drifting across the golf course; the aroma of coffee in the coffee bar in South Street. She should have noted them down. She should have said something about all that and the light and the hills with sheep on them like small white stones.

this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.

Life is a one-way street and you're not coming back.

I mean, they say they've gotta change the street kids' lives. Well, that's true. But you can't take somebody from point A to point Z overnight. You can't make me a fucking suburban teenager now, after what's gone down. It'll never happen.

The Vick dogs are, after all, still simply dogs. Dogs of all breeds and backgrounds run into the street and get struck by cars, attack other dogs, and bite people every day. There are 4.7 million5 dog bites recorded annually in the United States, which comes to something like twelve thousand a day.

Television keeps the masses occupied. What if everyone decided they wanted to make something of their lives? Television keeps the competition down and keeps more criminals off the street. What if everyone decided to go to law school or medical school? It would sure make it tough on the rest of us.

o diabo na rua, no meio do redemoinho…

The snow fell softly on the street. It muffled sound. It sent people scurrying homeward, so that the street was soon deserted, empty, quiet. And it could have been any street in the city, for the snow laid a delicate film over the sidewalk, over the brick of the tired, old buildings; gently obscuring the grime and the garbage and the ugliness.

the crap game in progress in the middle of the block, the scraps of obscene talk she heard as she passed the poolroom, the tough young boys with their caps on backward who swaggered by, were things that she saw with the eyes of an adult and reacted to from an adult's point of view. It was impossible to know how this street looked to eight-year-old Bub.

They heard the clip-clop of a horse coming down the street. Barbara Ellen Debany, their pet caretaker and almost-vet, waved at them as she passed the store.

Dans la rue des Santi Apostoli, odeur forte du crottin, lavé régulièrement par les machines. Une grosse femme est assise sur le trottoir, on voit sa culotte très propre et blanche, soulignant une vulve proéminente. Depuis que ma mère est morte, je ne détourne plus les yeux de telles scènes avec gêne.

Alexander Wang is a young designer, and his style is so profound. He took sports and street and kind of combined it into upscale high fashion. He made a white T-shirt a luxury.

I have problems with a lot of photography, particularly street photography and photojournalism - objectifying the other, finding the contempt and exoticism that you might feel within yourself or toward yourself and projecting it out to others. There can be an abusive power to photography, too.

There's Jay-Z, who morphs a certain street hustler's cool and indifference into CEO extravagance. But for all his prominence, Jay-Z hasn't written a lot of crossover hits.

People in Nevada know me from the street to the ring to the Senate chambers. I've never had to prove my manhood to anyone.

I do, she protested; I want to stand on the street corner like a sandwich man, informing all the passers-by.

I like these streets... I always feel as though it's a performance being staged for me; as though the second I've passed they'll all stop leaping and laughing and, instead grow very sad, remembering how poor they are, and retreat with bowed heads into their houses. You often get that effect abroad

Another dawn flung itself across the river; a belated taxi hurried along the street, its lamps still shining like burning eyes in a face white from a nights' carouse.

Dick was about to retort by commenting on the extraordinary suits worn by Tommy and Prince Chillicheff, suits of a cut and pattern fantastic enough to have sauntered down Beale Street on a Sunday—when

He was at once the commonest and the most remarkable product of civilization. He was nine out of ten people that one passes on a city street—and he was a hairless ape with two dozen tricks. He was the hero of a thousand romances of life and art—and he was a virtual moron, performing staidly yet absurdly a series of complicated and infinitely astounding epics over a span of threescore years.

That's my middle west - not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns but the thrilling, returning trains of my youth and the street lames and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow.

If the office in the Rua dos Douradores represents Life for me, the second floor room I live in on that same street represents Art. Yes, Art, living on the same street as Life but in a different room; Art, which offers relief from life without actually relieving one of living.

In the viscous air of the abstract street there is only an external thread of feeling, like the slobber of an idiot Destiny, dripping on my soul's consciousness.