Quotes about streets

An empty street sucks your fullness a full street fills your emptiness!

Tanzanians are some of the friendliest you'll ever meet, insisting on a welcoming smile and wave as they pass you on the streets, exclaiming 'Jambo!'

Not by appointment do we meet delight Or joy they heed not our expectancy But round some corner of the streets of life they of a sudden greet us with a smile.

There’s something about arriving in new cities, wandering empty streets with no destination. I will never lose the love for the arriving, but I'm born to leave.

Try not to say "I have" unless it’s not bought by the money. If materialism is a blessing would have not been sold out in streets

If you keep wandering in the dark streets, may be it is because you find peace in the darkness rather than in the light!

In a simple street you can find the whole world: You can find joy and sorrow; you can find good and evil, silence and noise; you can find all the comedies and all the tragedies! An ordinary simple street is the mirror of the whole world!

In my father's last letter he said that the world is run by those willing to take the responsibility for the running of it. If it is life that you feel you are missing I can tell you where to find it. In the law courts, in business, in government. There is nothing occurring in the streets. Nothing but a dumbshow composed of the helpless and the impotent.

I loved you, I did. I believe I even sold myself a bit: on your love, my lust, your hair and just the way we stood there. How the air smelled of you, the way your shirt was cursed with blues. The way we danced by the ocean in front your mini-garden. The white fence, your loveliness and the heavenly kisses. It’ll always be the sheets, lying beside, holding your arm and kissing your hair in a loving stride.

The streets are silent / The playgrounds are still /The noise has moved elsewhere / Into our homes / Into our hearts / It’s been too long /Children are not where they belong /The streets, the playgrounds and the song /Have been waiting for too long…

A street full of shadows will teach you what life is much better than the street full of lights!

So I find words I never thought to speakIn streets I never thought I should revisitWhen I left my body on a distant shore.

If I had lost everything and was out on the streets with no money I would go sit in the library and read and meditate for weeks at a time.

I regained my soul through literature after those times I'd lost it to wild-eyed gypsy girls on the European streets.

She was perfectly sane in streets unknown. She loved conversing with people tagged as strangers. She was social, amiable & all that is her. Yet, with known people she felt unknown, she choked words and fought inside. And indeed she tripped insane while traversing those streets known. She stared at others and consumed their happiness through senses cold. And so she waits for Winter's warmth to touch her in streets of distant shore, in her own world of simple happiness.

I've wandered through the real world, and written myself through the darkness of the streets inside me. I see people walking through the city and wonder where they've been, and what the moments of their lives have done to them. If they're anything like me, their moments have held them up and shot them down.Sometimes I just survive.But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.That's when the stories show up in me.They find me all the time.They're made

It was true that the city could still throw shadows filled with mystifying figures from its past, whose grip on the present could be felt on certain strange days, when the streets were dark with rain and harmful ideas.

I am not your dog that you whistle for; I’m not a stray animal you call over, and I am not, I never have been, nor will I ever be, your “baby”!

Walking in a beautiful narrow street is an excellent way of discovering life with the feeling of security!

In life there are times where you have to behave like twilight streets: Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even dream, just be silent and wait for the light to shine on you!

The grey of a bitter, starved-looking morning. The town like a mortally wounded creature, torn by shells, gashed open by bombs. Dead streets - streets of death - death in streets and their houses; yet people still able to sleep and still sleeping.

They have never put it into words, they cannot; but each absence is a threat. They never felt this way in New York - they moved all over New York. Here each is afraid that one of the others will get into some terrible trouble before he is seen again, and before anyone can help him. It is the spirit of the people, the eyes which endlessly watch them, eyes which never meet their eyes. Something like lust, something like hatred, seems to hover in the air along the country roads, shifting like mist

The filth and noise of the crowded streets soon destroy the elasticity of health which belongs to the country boy.

Crack, crack—crack, crack—crack, crack—so this is Paris! quoth I (continuing in the same mood)—and this is Paris!—humph!—Paris! cried I, repeating the name the third time— The first, the finest, the most brilliant— —The streets however are nasty; But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells—crack, crack—crack, crack—

Streets that follow like a tedious argumentOf insidious intentTo lead you to an overwhelming question...

Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them.

Since when has corruption everywhere, homes, streets, offices, become a Nigerian factor

It was the day of the worms. That first almost-warm, after-the-rainy-night day in April, when you bolt from your house to find yourself in a world of worms. They were as numerous here in the East End as they had been in the West. The sidewalks, the streets. The very places where they didn't belong. Forlorn, marooned on concrete and asphalt, no place to burrow, April's orphans.

The streets are a poor kid’s PlayStation™

I've had enough of these streets that sweat a cold, yellow slime, of hostile people, of crying myself to sleep every night. I've had enough of thinking, enough of remembering.

Sometimes a gloomy street is all a sad person needs! A magical relief may arise from the meeting of the two sad things!

...If I ever got sloppy and maudlin, it would be for the streets of my childhood—but no self- respecting writer should ever eulogize a slum...