No, sir. I make it a rule of mine: The more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask.
You think of outside your room, of the streets of the town, the lonely little squares over by the station, of those winter Saturdays all alike.
There rolls the deep where grew the tree O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars hath been. The stillness of the central sea.
Nevertheless, he had, on a certain star-lit evening, said wonderingly and quite reverently: "Deh moon looks like hell, don't it?
Rock and Roll adolescent hoodlums storm the streets of all nations. They rush into the Louvre and throw acid in the Mona Lisa’s face.
Nakedness has no color: this can come as news only to those who have never covered, or been covered by, another naked human being.
The sociopaths, that's the real problem. The whole street demeanor is about pretending to be a sociopath as well, so that the real ones can't find you.
There were corpses here and there and pools of blood. I remember seeing a butterfly flutter up and down that street. Summer does not abdicate.
Living in a galaxy is like living in a neighborhood where the house down the street might have burned down four thousand years ago but you wouldn't know it for another three thousand years.
Have I missed a national holiday? There must be celebrations in the streets for you to be home at this hour of the day." "I'm calling it Summerset Goes Mute Day. The city's gone mad with joy.
The point is, Jenna, no one is normal or perfect like that house you see across the street. Everyone suffers from their own struggles, whether they’re big or small.
To uncover your true potential you must first find your own limits and then you have to have the courage to blow past them." — Picabo Street
...even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonorable when it's used for selfish or cowardly reasons. - Mr. Penderwick
You don’t know what a trial it is to be —like me. I've got to keep my face like steel in the street to keep men from winking at me.
The ultimate dead end is murder. My house is on a dead-end street, and it’s killing me. My house is so small it’s trying to suffocate me.
I mean, scamming on guys on the Internet? I thought that was only for forty-year-old divorcees who Photoshop their pictures in an effort to appear younger and thinner.
People come and go, in and out of each other’s lives like it’s nothing. So I don’t know how/why this should be a big deal.
The schizophrenic in the sleeping bag with a live chicken and a can of tomato soup spilling onto the sidewalk had no right to steal my street performance.
The perfectly measured burr of a dispassionate detective had suddenly changed into the explosive boom of a take-no-shit street cop. Suffice it to say, I froze.
With this in mind, Ava tells herself to be present and celebrate the holiday instead of wishing it was over. After all, one is given only a certain number of Christmases in one's life.
Thanksgiving was nothing more than a pilgrim-created obstacle in the way of Christmas; a dead bird in the street that forced a brief detour.
