Quotes about small-town

Alice wondered if her mother was aware that she wasn’t the only one in town who’d come down with a bad case of Blueberry Fever.

I don’t want to go home yet.” He twisted at the waist and patted the seat behind him. “Take a walk on the wild side with me.

Before she could ponder what on earth he meant or come up with a proper response, he took their charade a step further.He kissed her.

How old are you?”“Old enough to know better, but still young enough to do it again.

Doubt filled her eyes. “What are we betting for, anyway?”He hadn’t thought about that, but it took his brain all of three seconds to come up with an answer. He knew damn well what he wanted from her. Had for years.“A kiss.” The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, but once out, he didn’t want to take them back. “One kiss after you come back and see she’s all right.

For the record, you would've been my first one night stand.

You're gonna have to hold on tight, because this rodeo is just getting started.

I must say, cowboy, I'm impressed. I was worried you could only handle eight seconds at a time.

You want a wild ride, J.J.? I'll give it to you, hard and slow until you scream my name.

Small-town boy meets big-time evil.

In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities; people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class; every hour carries its new challenge. When you pass the inn at the end of the village you leave your favourite whimsy behind you; for you will meet no one who can share it. We listen to eloquent speaking, read books and write them, settle all the affairs of the

Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time. Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance.

The talks were like blood transfusions, moments of realness and hope that were pinpricks of light in the dark fabric of small-town life.

The young of the town, preoccupied with their own germinating angst, which each possessed in varying degree (though few were ever fully aware of its existence), felt no particular connection to the land, its people, its structures, or its history. As such, they had no inclination to defend its invisible borders from declared enemies within or without. They desired only escape from this small village, which each viewed as an existential prison built upon the antiquated expectations of their paren

Maycomb was a tired old town, even in 1932 when I first knew it. Somehow, it was hotter then. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon after their three o'clock naps. And by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frosting from sweating and sweet talcum. The day was twenty-four hours long, but it seemed longer. There's no hurry, for there's nowhere to go and nothing to buy...and no money to buy it with.

Living in a small town [in India] was like living in a glass house!

This is a small town, so everyone talks. Ironic, isn't it—so few people, so many opinions?

Knowledge is currency here....

[He] had to submit to the fate of every newcomer in a small town, where many tongues talk but few heads think.

Where everyone knows your name, and a safe place to raise a family.

I'm the girl who's desperate to get out of her small town because if she doesn't she knows she'll die. She knows her soul will start to rot, like fruit gone bad.

A scattering of pinpoint lights shows up in the blackness ahead. A town or village straddling the highway. The indicator on the speedometer begins to lose ground. The man glances in his mirror at the girl, a little anxiously as if this oncoming town were some kind of test to be met.An illuminated road sign flashes by: CAUTION! MAIN STREET AHEAD - SLOW UP The man nods grimly, as if agreeing with that first word. But not in the way it is meant.The lights grow bigger, spread out on either side. Str

The real core of this book is about the open secrets that can fester in a community until an outsider raises questions.

If looks could kill, she’d be a dead woman.

She was halfway through the revolving door when the thought hit her; she was the one who had seen Junior and Luther fighting before the banquet. She was the one had told Detective Sullivan. Overcome with guilt, she grabbed Ted’s arm and faced him. “It’s because of me,” she said. “Junior was arrested because of me!

Fruit of the Poisonous Tree, The True Story of Murder in a Small Town, begins on a steamy August night with two teenagers, brother and sister, on an evil mission deep in a rural Michigan forest. For one desperate moment headlights appear on the lonely access road. Will they be found out? Thus the story of one of state’s strangest criminal cases unfolds. Girl breaks up with boyfriend. He turns violent. She disappears without a trace. Then state police investigators set out on what at first looks

If I was going to spend the next day in jail for obstruction of justice, I'd better get a good nights sleep.

It's one thing to develop a nostalgia for home while you're boozing with Yankee writers in Martha's Vineyard or being chased by the bulls in Pamplona. It's something else to go home and visit with the folks in Reed's drugstore on the square and actually listen to them. The reason you can't go home again is not because the down-home folks are mad at you--they're not, don't flatter yourself, they couldn't care less--but because once you're in orbit and you return to Reed's drugstore on the square,

I’ll save a spot for you on the hood of my truck.

Puttin’ on a cowboy hat & a pair of boots doesn’t make you country Like puttin’ on a ball gown & glass heels won’t make me Cinderella.

It’s an immense night out there, wheeling and windy. The lights on the street and in the houses against the black wetness, little unilluminating glints that might be painted on it. The town seems huddled together, cowering on a high tiny perch, afraid to move lest it topple into the wind.

What happens when you pray for an angel and get a vampire instead? R E Mullins

He was both her hero and enemy. She was his best student and biggest regret.

It's difficult being an intellectual in a bread and butter sort of town.

No matter what you do, someone always knew you would.

Sometimes it was hard to breathe, knowing how small my world could be. Maybe in San Francisco it wouldn't feel like the universe was conspiring to keep me in a bubble.

As a rule, she didn’t like boys very much, but she had to admit, Charlie was actually pretty nice.