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City Quotes

Browse 415 quotes about City.

City Quotes

“Why are you leaving Los Angeles?' asked Andrei. 'Something about the city. People don’t want to see each other. Everything’s too far away. A bunch of reasons. On sidewalks everyone avoids each other; it’s weird to go up to someone. Most of all, the weather’s a lie. Too much sun, and then everyone acts like the sun. You know what I mean? There’s so much to do, but no one to do it with.”

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Book:A Happy Ghost
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“Die Stadt war so groß. Und Emil war so klein. Und kein Mensch wollte wissen, warum er kein Geld hatte, und warum er nicht wusste, wo er austeigen sollte. Vier Millionen Menschen lebten in Berlin und keiner interessierte sich für Emil Tischbein. Niemand will von den Sorgen des andern etwas wissen. Jeder hat mit seinen eigenen Sorgen und Freuden genug zu tun. Und wenn man sagt: >>Das tut mir aber wirklich leid>Mensch, lass mich bloß in Ruhe!<<”

CitiesLonelinessLonelyCityBerlin
Book:Emil und die Detektive
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“Manhattan across the water, the glittering towers. I was working, but I didn't have anything like enough to do, and the bad times came in the evenings, when I came back to my room, sat on the couch and watched the world outside me going through on glass a lightbulb at a time.”

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Book:The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone
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“And beneath her bare feet lay the biggest structure on earth, a whole world unto itself. How strange that there were millions of people below her at this very moment, eating, sleeping, dreaming, touching. Avery blinked, feeling suddenly and acutely alone. They were strangers, all of them, even the ones she knew. What did she care about them, or about herself, or about anything, really?”

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Book:The Thousandth Floor
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“As I saw myself moving ever farther toward the social margin, nothing healed me of a sore and angry heart like a walk through the city. To see in the street the fifty different ways people struggle to remain human - the variety and inventiveness of survival techniques - was to feel the pressure relieved, the overflow draining off. I felt in my nerve endings the common refusal to go under. That refusal became company. I was never less alone than alone in the crowded street. Here, I found, I could imagine myself. Here, I thought, I am buying time. What a notion: buying time.”

LonelinessCity
Author:Vivian Gornick
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“The landscape of Singapore is different now. Modern buildings scratch the skyline with a pomp and display that wasn't there in days gone by. Old and new come together to create a modern Singapore that was still in the process of being made as I grew up.”

MythologyLandscapeCityModernityOldSingaporeCity LifeCultural HeritageSingapore Literature
Book:The Merchant of Stories: A Creative Entrepreneur's Journey
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“I don’t think I’ve ever referred to any girl I dated as my girlfriend. I think that would freak me out. Even the girl that I dated for two years in college I don’t think I ever referred to her as my girlfriend.” “How would you introduce her?” I asked. “I’m just going to say her name,” he said.”

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Book:Minor Snobs
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“Slowly the truth is loading I'm weighted down with love Snow lying deep and even Strung out and dreaming of Night falling on the city Quite something to behold Don't it just look so pretty This disappearing world We're threading hope like fire Down through the desperate blood Down through the trailing wire Into the leafless wood Night falling on the city Quite something to behold Don't it just look so pretty This disappearing world This disappearing world I'll be sticking right there with it I'll be by your side Sailing like a silver bullet Hit 'em 'tween the eyes Through the smoke and rising water Cross the great divide Baby till it all feels right Night falling on the city Sparkling red and gold Don't it just look so pretty This disappearing world"~David Gray”

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Author:David Gray
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“She stands there until she realizes she is waiting. Waiting for someone to help. To come and fix the mess she's in. But no one is coming. No one remembers, and if she resigns herself to waiting, she will wait forever. So she walks. And as she walks, she studies Paris. Makes note of this house, and that road, of bridges, and carriage horses, and the gates of a garden. Glimpses roses beyond the wall, beauty in the cracks.”

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Book:The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
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“Around us, the city twinkled, the stars themselves seeming to hang lower, pulsing with ruby and amethyst and pearl. Above, the full moon set the marble of the buildings and bridges glowing as if they were all lit from within. Music played, strings and gentle drums, and on either side of the Sidra, golden lights bobbed over riverside walkways dotted with cafes and shops, all open for the night, already packed. Life- so full of life. I could nearly taste it crackling on my tongue.”

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Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was then or what day it is now. Blurred out lines from hangovers to coffee Another vagabond lost to love. 4am alone and on my way. These are my finest moments. I scrub my skin to rid me from you and I still don’t know why I cried. It was just something in the way you took my heart and rearranged my insides and I couldn’t recognise the emptiness you left me with when you were done. Maybe you thought my insides would fit better this way, look better this way, to you and us and all the rest. But then you must have changed your mind or made a wrong because why did you leave? 6 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, and I still don’t know which month it was then or what day it is now. I replace cafés with crowded bars and empty roads with broken bottles and this town is healing me slowly but still not slow or fast enough because there’s no right way to do this. There is no right way to do this. There is no right way to do this.”

Growing UpCoffeeAloneBreakupCityBreak UpBerlinBroken HeartedHang Over
Book:Another Vagabond Lost To Love: Berlin Stories on Leaving & Arriving
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“Building with Its Face Blown Off How suddenly the private is revealed in a bombed-out city, how the blue and white striped wallpaper of a second story bedroom is now exposed to the lightly falling snow as if the room had answered the explosion wearing only its striped pajamas. Some neighbors and soldiers poke around in the rubble below and stare up at the hanging staircase, the portrait of a grandfather, a door dangling from a single hinge. And the bathroom looks almost embarrassed by its uncovered ochre walls, the twisted mess of its plumbing, the sink sinking to its knees, the ripped shower curtain, the torn goldfish trailing bubbles. It's like a dollhouse view as if a child on its knees could reach in and pick up the bureau, straighten a picture. Or it might be a room on a stage in a play with no characters, no dialogue or audience, no beginning, middle, and end– just the broken furniture in the street, a shoe among the cinder blocks, a light snow still falling on a distant steeple, and people crossing a bridge that still stands. And beyong that–crows in a tree, the statue of a leader on a horse, and clouds that look like smoke, and even farther on, in another country on a blanket under a shade tree, a man pouring wine into two glasses and a woman sliding out the wooden pegs of a wicker hamper filled with bread, cheese, and several kinds of olives.”

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Book:The Trouble With Poetry - And Other Poems
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“She was shocked when she followed her aunt and cousin down into the city proper. The streets were crawling with people, all hurrying to and fro, mindless of one another. They brushed by with barely even a glance, stepping down into the busy roads between horse drawn buses and draymen’s carts with such confidence, seemingly oblivious that they could be run down at any moment. Children dodged in and out amongst them, ragamuffins all, some barefoot.”

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Book:The Mill Owner's Son
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“[Poem: Slates of Grey] Sullen faces like slates of grey— What I’d seen on a walk today. Bodies rushing bodies bolting Time for life a disregarding. Money to make and to grow old What about the hands to hold? Deadlines, projects, people to meet What about our own two feet. Sullen faces like slates of grey... What I’d see most anyday.”

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Book:Trouble
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“In the city, human beings celebrated and enjoyed material conditions and comforts, but were caught in the labyrinths and knots of spiritual shallowness and psychological confusion. In the city human beings wrestled with the demands of survival and profit but fled from life’s imperatives of honesty and moderation. In the city man was afraid to confront his own face.”

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Book:The Tower
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“From the middle of a tomb whose lights burn only for survival…our tired bodies finally understand and obey our beating hearts. Meet me in the country, Meet me in the country, The city's breath is getting way too evil to breathe. Meet us in the country, Leave the pigs and rats in the city— Under the gypsy sun, we all will clearly reach the grace of living—…to give and receive with love and ease. We'll dance to the drums of the open life… love is the rhythm of man and wife… faith in the beat for everyone. God breathes music…through the life of the Gypsy Sun…”

NatureMusicNew LifeEscapeCityModern LifeCountrysideUniversal LoveLoving The WorldLeaving The City
Book:Cherokee Mist: The Lost Writings
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“I turn my face to the window as the train starts to move. Charles suggested I take the car, but I prefer this strange elevated route out of town, the rooftop tour of south London as the carriages rattle between spires and old smokestacks and the tips of poplars; the sudden glimpses into school playgrounds and street markets and quiet litter-strewn alleys, narrow avenues of blackened brick. Little by little the city falls away, like something giving up, and then the acoustics of the carriage change, and we're out in the open: meadows riven with streams, the fast blue shadows of clouds on the hills.”

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Book:Her
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“To the one in the skies, this city must look like a scintillating pattern of speckled glows in all directions, like a firecracker going off amid thick darkness. Right now the urban pattern glowing here is in hues of orange, ginger, and ochre. It is a configuration of sparkles, each dot a light lit by someone awake at this hour. From where the Celestial Gaze is situated, from that high above, all these sporadically lit bulbs must seem in perfect harmony, constantly flickering, as if coding a cryptic message to God.”

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Book:The Bastard of Istanbul
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