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Small Town Life Quotes

Browse 114 quotes about Small Town Life.

Small Town Life Quotes

“However harmful the kailyard tradition was to Scottish literature and the perception of Scotland, it invariably portrayed village or small town life in Scotland as harmonious and not umpleasant. At the beginning of the twentieth century, an anti-kailyard tradition of Scottish literature developed, most markedly represented by two novels: George Douglas Brown, 'The House with the Green Shutters (1901), and John MacDougall Hay, Gillespie (1914). Both were based on the authors' own experience of Scottish villages (Ochiltree and Tarbert respectively). Both display the unsavoury and tragic side of parochial life. Could we view The Little White Town of Never Weary as a sort of riposte to this tradition? It certainly emphasises the more idyllic traditional life of rural market town and burgh.”

“The unblemished blanket of white looked like icing on a cake dusted with glittery sugar. The scene was magical--perfect for Christmas morning." Threads of Kindness”

“Right before a party starts, I always go to my own front door and pretend I'm a guest walking inside. I want their first view to be welcoming." Threads of Kindness”

“Christmas is a time for miracles. The changes in my life are truly that. I want to share this joyous news with all of you." Threads of Kindness”

“I guess watching Disney movies my entire childhood is catching up with me. I still want to be a Disney princess." Threads of Kindness”

“Maggie and John weren't the only ones feeling down in the dumps this Christmas Day. I don't want to overstate it, but I was drenched in melancholy." Threads of Kindness”

“A slow, tender smile spread across his face. He shrugged out of his coat, and tossed it over one arm, his dark eyes never leaving hers. Threads of Kindness”

“Their kiss was deep and unhurried, as if he were memorizing the moment--and she was only too happy to let him. Threads of Kindness”

“Oh no, honey. Lots of women go through it early. Why, there was this woman over in Georgia who was only thirty-six-years-old and one day she got in her car and drove right up the stairs to the county courthouse, rolled down her window, and tossed her mother's head that she had just chopped off in her kitchen at a State policeman and hollered, "Here! This is what you wanted," and drove right back down the courthouse stairs. Now that's what an early menopause will do for you if you're not careful.”

“But I knew the way the people in the town thought about things. They always had some time left over from their life to bother about other people and what they did. They thought they had to get together to help other people out, like the time they got together about the woman who let a colored man borrow her car and told her the best place for her was up north with all the other nigger lovers, and the time they got the veterans with overseas wives out. If you were different from anybody in town, you had to get out. That's why everybody was so much alike. The way they talked, what they did, what they liked, what they hated. If somebody got to hate something and he was the right person, everybody had to hate it too, or people began to hate the ones who didn't hate it. They used to tell us in school to think for yourself, but you couldn't do that in the town. You had to think what your father thought all his life, and that was what everybody thought.”

“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. Street lights peer out here and there among the trees. The highway suddenly sprouts a plank sidewalk on each side of it. Dark store-windows glide by. With an instinctive gesture, the man dims his lights from blinding platinum to just a pale wash. A lunch-room window drifts by. ("Jane Brown's Body")”