Quotes About Street

My first memory is being taken for Indian food at the Cookham Tandoori on the High Street - I remember the poppadoms, the onions, the chicken tikka.

Down the long and silent street, The dawn, with silver-sandaled feet, Crept like a frightened girl.

A cold rain began to fall, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the dripping mist.

I heard the opening bar of 'Help' as I headed down Polk Street. Every single time I've heard that tune I've taken it as some message from God, a warning of things to come, a perfect description of my mashed-potato character

The only action on the street was booze and hot cunt.

Henry lived in a boarding-house in Guildford Street.

The street heaves and winds, burns and bumps, but behind the glass the locksmith, the old curator of timepieces, stands motionless with a single protruding eye, one amazing eye which peers into the mystery, the secret hearts of clocks, and looks deeply in until the elusive butterfly of time in its measure is trapped in his forehead and the wings of the watch beat. -from To Don Asterio Alarcón, Clocksmith of Valparaíso

In my poems I could not shut the door to the street.

the white bowl of the street began to fill with darkness, from the pavement upwards, like somebody pouring tea into a cup.

Thus looked at from outside, these guests --in this dead-and-alive dining room, of this dead-and-alive house, of this dead-and-alive street, of this dead-and-alive little town--in grey, dead winter of the deadliest part of the most deadly war in history--thus seen from a detached point of view, they presented an extraordinary spectacle.

For ages, I had this mullet until someone on the street stopped me and said, 'Darling, can I cut your hair for free? Because you look a bit weird.'

I busked from the age of 13 until I was 18.

The Harlots cry from Street to Street Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet The Winners Shout the Losers Curse Dance before dead Englands Hearse

He thought that it was loneliness which he was trying to escape and not himself. But the street ran on: catlike, one place was the same as another to him. But in none of them could he be quiet. But the street ran on in its moods and phases, always empty: he might have seen himself as in numberless avatars, in silence, doomed with motion, driven by the courage of flagged and spurred despair; by the despair of courage whose opportunities had to be flagged and spurred.

The whiskey died away in time and was renewed and died again, but the street ran on. From that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene ...

What he was now seeing was the street lonely, savage, and cool. That was it: cool; he was thinking, saying aloud to himself sometimes, "I better move. I better get away from here." But something held him, as the fatalist can always be held: by curiosity, pessimism, by sheer inertia.

NOW the final copper light of afternoon fades; now the street beyond the low maples and the low signboard is prepared and empty, framed by the study window like a stage.

Ay, sir," Alec said, who had long since found out that no man has courage but that any man may blunder blindly into valor as one stumbles into an open manhole in the street.

Jobb felÅ'l utcai lámpák sora menetelt...

It was the root of street cool, too, the knowing posture that implied connection, invisible lines up to the hidden levels of influence.

Vodou says, there's God, sure, Gran Mèt, but He's big, too big and too far away to worry Himself if your ass is poor, or you can't get laid. Come on, man, you know how this works, it's street religion, came out of a dirt-poor place a million years ago. Vodou's like the street. Some duster chops out your sister, you don't go camp on the Yakuza's doorstep, do you? No way. You go to somebody, though, who can get the thing done.

Vodou says, there's God, sure, Gran Met, but He's big, too big and too far away to worry Himself if your ass is poor, or you can't get laid. Come on, man, you know how this works, it's street religion, came out of a dirt-poor place a million years ago. Vodou's like the street. Some duster chops out your sister, you don't go camp on the Yakuza's doorstep, do you? No way. You go to somebody, though, who can get the thing done.

Dark came early and stayed full of lights and the shouts of children.

It's hard to encapsulate my inspiration because there are so many different looks, but I think it's just like, sexy girl you see walking down the street in a cool outfit. A lot of eyelet, a lot of leather, playing with the hard and the soft, the good and bad inside of us all.