Best 104 quotes in «small town quotes» category

I’m a mother. You name it, I’ve seen it and probably had to mop it up,” said Lucy.

I’m not too big for this town, Dad. I never will be.

I must say, cowboy, I'm impressed. I was worried you could only handle eight seconds at a time.

In a city the multiplicity of threads forced a whirling confusion on the loom but here the simple pattern and the slow weaving made purpose more discernible.

In a small town where everyone knows everyone it is almost impossible to believe that one of your acquaintance could murder anyone. For that reason, if the signs are not pretty strong in a particular direction, it must be some dark stranger, some wanderer from the outside world where such things happen.

In this town to know three languages is an unnecessary luxury. It's not even a luxury, but a sort of unnecessary addition, like a sixth finger. We have a great deal of superfluous knowledge.

It's one thing to develop a nostalgia for home while you're boozing with Yankee writers in Martha's Vineyard or being chased by the bulls in Pamplona. It's something else to go home and visit with the folks in Reed's drugstore on the square and actually listen to them. The reason you can't go home again is not because the down-home folks are mad at you--they're not, don't flatter yourself, they couldn't care less--but because once you're in orbit and you return to Reed's drugstore on the square, you can stand no more than fifteen minutes of the conversation before you head for the woods, head for the liquor store, or head back to Martha's Vineyard, where at least you can put a tolerable and saving distance between you and home. Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon.

I'm the girl who's desperate to get out of her small town because if she doesn't she knows she'll die. She knows her soul will start to rot, like fruit gone bad.

I’ve been to livelier funerals,” grumbled Herb.

I wish I could run away,” Rudger told Jersey as they both rushed in and out of various patients’ rooms, darting around like little ants. “I can’t leave and be on my own though, not right now, anyway.” “Why?” asked Jersey, waving her flashlight in mid-air. Rudger froze for a second, a regretful haze emanating from his eyes. “It’d break her heart if I left.” “Ain’t that normal? For parents to have mixed feelings about their kids growin’ up?” “Not for me, it isn’t.” Jersey made a pitying face in his direction. “So, you wanna keep bein’ towed around with your mom, livin’ in a gross town like Danvers?” “Is there a choice?” “Yeah, there sure is. You can run away and try to be a whole person before it’s too late, or you can live with mommy dearest forever and turn into Norman Bates.

It’s an immense night out there, wheeling and windy. The lights on the street and in the houses against the black wetness, little unilluminating glints that might be painted on it. The town seems huddled together, cowering on a high tiny perch, afraid to move lest it topple into the wind.

Knowledge is currency here....

Maybe it’s a symptom of a small town—and Gentry certainly was that—but for some, even after graduation, high school never really ends.

Living in a small town [in India] was like living in a glass house!

My town, populated almost entirely by the descendants of white Christian Europeans, had few connections to the outside world, perhaps by choice, and so their resentments and fears festered with little reason to ever be expressed to anyone but one another. I don’t remember much talk of foreign affairs, or of other countries, rarely even of New York, which loomed like a terrifying shadow above us, the place Americans went either to be mugged or to think they were better than everyone else. That was my sense of the outside world: where Americans went to be hurt or to hurt others. When I got into an elite college, I took this small-town defensiveness with me, but slowly discovered that the world was actually kaleidoscopic, full of possibilities.

It was like hundreds of roads he'd driven over - no different - a stretch of tar, lusterless, scaley, humping toward the center. On both sides were telephone poles, tilted this way and that, up a little, down... Billboards - down farther an increasing clutter of them. Some road signs. A tottering barn in a waste field, the Mail Pouch ad half weathered away. Other fields. A large wood - almost leafless now - the bare branches netting darkly against the sky. Then down, where the road curved away, a big white farmhouse, trees on the lawn, neat fences - and above it all, way up, a television aerial, struck by the sun, shooting out bars of glare like neon. ("Thompson")

Small-town boy meets big-time evil.

Sometimes it was hard to breathe, knowing how small my world could be. Maybe in San Francisco it wouldn't feel like the universe was conspiring to keep me in a bubble.

Tapi, Bun. Pak Amir di kelas tadi bilang bintang itu hanyalah kumpulan material raksasa berwujud bola gas hidrogen, helium dan partikel debu. Benda mati yang terbentuk milyaran tahun silam. Mana sih yang benar, apa mamaku dulu berbohong?” sanggahku cepat. “Entahlah, Nak. Bunda tak seberuntung dirimu yang bisa mengecap bangku SMA, menjelajahi dunia lewat buku, internet atau apalah namanya. Juga tak mengenal mamamu sebelumnya untuk sekedar tahu apakah ia berkata benar atau dusta. Tapi setidaknya percayalah, rembulan yang benderang dan bintang yang menghiasi malam ini adalah perwujudan cinta dari sang Maha Penyayang untukmu Yenni Mirantika,” tatapan matanya amat meneduhkan.

That's Branton, Michigan, by the way. Don't try to find it on a map - you'd need a microscope. It's one of a dozen dinky towns north of Lansing, one of the few that doesn't sound like it was named by a French explorer. Branton, Michigan. Population: Not a Lot and Yet Still Too Many I Don't Particularly Care For. We have a shopping mall with a JCPenny and an Asian fusion place that everyone says they are dying to try even though it’s been there for three years now. Most of our other restaurants are attached to gas stations, the kind that serve rubbery purple hot dogs and sodas in buckets. There’s a statue of Francis B. Stockbridge in the center of town. He’s a Michigan state senator from prehistoric times with a beard that belongs on Rapunzel’s twin brother. He wasn’t born in Branton, of course – nobody important was ever born in Branton – but we needed a statue for the front of the courthouse and the name Stockbridge looks good on a copper plate. It’s all for show. Branton’s the kind of place that tries to pretend it’s better than it really is. It’s really the kind of place with more bars than bookstores and more churches than either, not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. It’s a place where teenagers still sometimes take baseball bats to mailboxes and wearing the wrong brand of shoes gets you at least a dirty look. It snows a lot in Branton. Like avalanches dumped from the sky. Like heaps to hills to mountains, the plows carving their paths through our neighborhood, creating alpine ranges nearly tall enough to ski down. Some of the snow mounds are so big you can build houses inside them, complete with entryways and coat closets. Restrooms are down the hall on your right. Just look for the steaming yellow hole. There’s nothing like that first Branton snow, though. Soft as a cat scruff and bleach white, so bright you can almost see your reflection in it. Then the plows come and churn up the earth underneath. The dirt and the boot tracks and the car exhaust mix together to make it all ash gray, almost black, and it sickens your stomach just to look at it. It happens everywhere, not just Branton, but here it’s something you can count on.

She was halfway through the revolving door when the thought hit her; she was the one who had seen Junior and Luther fighting before the banquet. She was the one had told Detective Sullivan. Overcome with guilt, she grabbed Ted’s arm and faced him. “It’s because of me,” she said. “Junior was arrested because of me!

The dead don’t give up anything, but the living do.

The courthouse clock struck nine and it was getting late and it was really night on this small street in a small town in a big state on a large continent on a planet earth hurtling down the pit of space toward nowhere or somewhere and Tom feeling every mile of the long drop.

The people feel and look the same, like they've settled here even though they know there's something more-something better-just beyond where they are. Small-town life.

Puttin’ on a cowboy hat & a pair of boots doesn’t make you country; Like puttin’ on a ball gown & glass heels won’t make me Cinderella.

There are things you experience growing up in a small town that create memories that last a lifetime.

The talks were like blood transfusions, moments of realness and hope that were pinpricks of light in the dark fabric of small-town life.

This is a small town, so everyone talks. Ironic, isn't it—so few people, so many opinions?

They all had the same visions of breathing fresh, clean air and knowing their neighbors. The kids would eat homegrown veggies and learn the value of an honest day's work.

The real core of this book is about the open secrets that can fester in a community until an outsider raises questions.

This was a normal town once, and we were normal people. Most of us worked at the plastics factory on the outskirts of town. Then one day there was an accident... something escaped from the factory, a yellow gas. It floated over the town so fast that we didn't see it, didn't realize... and then it was too late, and Dark Falls wasn't a normal town anymore.

This town of churches and dreams; this town I thought I would lose myself in, with its backward ways and winding roads leading to nowhere; but, I found myself instead. -Magic in the Backyard (excerpt from American Honey)

Wendy’s house, unlike many in Cape Breton, had three floors, along with a basement and attic. Aside from Wendy’s bedroom, there was a laundry room. The dirty water in the sink would rush from the washer hose, bubbling up, threatening to overflow, but it never did. Next-door was a motel with a neon sign that read in turquoise and pink, “We have the best rates in town!”, but the ‘E’ in ‘rates’ kept flickering on and off day and night so that every few seconds it would switch to, “We have the best rats in town!

Where everyone knows your name, and a safe place to raise a family.

You can’t just walk up to a stand of unsuspecting oaks and start touching. They’d think you’re getting fresh with them.

When Devon Donovan’s family buys Isabelle Cooper’s florist shop as an investment, she isn’t sure if it’s the worst thing that could happen…or her golden opportunity to get the gorgeous billionaire to finally notice her.

You're gonna have to hold on tight, because this rodeo is just getting started.

You want a wild ride, J.J.? I'll give it to you, hard and slow until you scream my name.

What happens when you pray for an angel and get a vampire instead? R E Mullins

All my friends are so small town.

A small town has as many eyes as a fly

A small town is nothing but eyes and gaping maw; it pecks at its own like a flock of vicious birds.

Anybody who suggests that I run for governor is no friend of mine. It's a terrible position, and besides, it requires living in Albany, which is small-town life at its worst.

Childhood is the small town everyone came from.

I am a small-town girl.

Every small town that I had ever been to had had a caboose.

I come from Main Street, from a small town that's really depressed.

I enjoy going on motorcycle trips and stopping in small towns and enjoying drinks with the locals.

Be nice. (The world is a small town.)

I grew up in a suburb of Ohio, in a small town, and I resonated with that small-town feeling where everybody knows your business.