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| There are natures that go to the streams of life in great cities as the hart goes to the water brooks. ~ Philip G. Hamerton |
| All cities are mad: but the madness is gallant. All cities are beautiful: but the beauty is grim. ~ Christopher Morley, |
| Cities force growth, and make men talkative and entertaining, but they make them artificial. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson |
| The axis of the earth sticks out visibly through the centre of each and every town or city. ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes |
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.
~ John Milton |
| What is the city but the people? ~ William Shakespeare |
| No city should be too large for a man to walk out of in a morning. ~ Cyril Connolly |
| Clearly, then, the city is not a concrete jungle, it is a human zoo. ~ Desmond Morris, |
| Divine Nature gave the fields, human art built the cities. ~ Marcus Terentius Varro, |
The roaring street is hung for miles
With fierce electric fire.
~ William Vaughan Moody, |
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| There is hardly one in three of us who live in the cities who is not sick with unused self. ~ Ben Hecht |
| Suburb: a place that isn’t city, isn’t country, and isn’t tolerable. ~ Mignon McLaughlin, |
| God made the country, and man made the town. ~ William Cowper, |
| A city is a large community where people are lonesome together. ~ Herbert Prochnow |
| I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighbourhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
Of human cities torture.
~ George Gordon, Lord Byron, |
To one who has been long in city pent,
‘Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven, – to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
~ John Keats, |
| Cities are the abyss of the human species. ~ Jean-Jacques Rousseau, |
| In the country the darkness of night is friendly and familiar, but in a city, with its blaze of lights, it is unnatural, hostile and menacing. It is like a monstrous vulture that hovers, biding its time. ~ Somerset Maugham |
| In Rome you long for the country; in the country – oh inconstant! – you praise the distant city to the stars. ~ Horace, |