The cashier had long since left for home. By now she was probably bustling by an unmade bed that was waiting in her small room like a boat to carry her off to the black lagoons of sleep, into the complicated world of dreams. The person sitting in the...
I’m after a mugger,” said Scout. “A hugger?” said Clyde. He was a little deaf. “I would imagine you receive plenty of hugs. They probably come to you. Why would you have to go after them?” “NO!” said Ike. “MMMMugger, you nitwit.” ...
Rather than feeling lost and unimportant and meaningless, set against galaxies which go beyond the reach of the furthest telescopes, I feel that my life has meaning. Perhaps I should feel insignificant, but instead I feel a soaring in my heart that t...
I choose to suppress the initial categories I want to put people in - rich, poor, together, not together, druggie, yuppie, rocker, loser, winner, cool, uncool. I choose to remember that I don't know their struggle or their pain. I choose to err on th...
It's pronounced wee but spelled O-U-I. It's all you'll want to say when you're sitting at one of the thousands of little cafes that line the streets and you're looking at a menu full of foods you just want to eat for days. And then you wake up early,...
Many times people living on street become source of inspirations. When in New Delhi often when your vehicle stops at red lights, small kids living on streets asking for money surrounds you & some of them with smiling face which makes me think if thes...
The dead boy in his arms hung with his head back and those partly opened eyes beheld nothing at all out of that passing landscape of street or wall or paling sky or the figures of the children who stood blessing themselves in the gray light. This man...
He walked out into a different city, one that was perfumed by the last dahlias of June, and onto a street out of his youth, where the shadowy widows from five o'clock Mass were filing by. But now it was he, not they, who crossed the street, so they w...
We live today amid ritualized anithumanisms. Among those intelligent enough to feel despair, some seek salvation in the literary artist. Artists love flattery; and the scam doesn't work without mystifying the process. The weather is unpredictable, bu...
David Kleinfeld: Fuck you and your self-righteous code of the goddamn streets. Did it pull you out of a 30 year stint in only 5 years? No, it didn't, I did. Did it get you acquitted 4 fucking times? No, it didn't, I did, so fuck you, fuck the streets...
Matt Buckner: I've never lived closer to danger, but I've never felt safer. I've never felt more confident, and people could spot it from a mile away. And as for this, the violence? I gotta be honest - it grew on me. Once you've taken a few punches a...
Tre Styles: [knocking on Sheryl's door] Sheryl! Come on! [Sheryl enters] Tre Styles: Keep your baby off the street. She gonna get hit one of these days. Sheryl: You got some blow? You got some rock? I'll suck your dick. Tre Styles: Just keep the baby...
Broadway Man on Street: "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." [sees Riggan] Broadway Man on Str...
All stories are love stories.
I find folding laundry very relaxing.
Getting recognized on the street is fine, but I never really wanted to be famous.
I've sold my records outta shopping carts on the street.
I've always belonged to the street, and I always will. It's in my DNA.
Don't believe everything you hear on the street.
I broke up the band in the office in Gerrard Street.
The road to Easy Street goes through the sewer.
