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d155009
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The man who lives in a small community lives in a much larger world. He knows much more of the fierce variety and uncompromising divergences of men...In a large community, we can choose our companions. In a small community, our companions are chosen for us. Thus in all extensive and highly civilized society groups come into existence founded upon sympathy, and shut out the real world more sharply than the gates of a monastery. There is nothing really narrow about the clan; the thing which is really narrow is the clique.
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small-towns
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G.K. Chesterton |
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984dd99
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He had to accept the fate of every newcomer to a small town where there are plenty of tongues that gossip and few minds that think.
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small-towns
gossip
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Victor Hugo |
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d25f7b6
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(This place) presumed to be a town then, but was hardly more than a word under a tin roof.
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small-towns
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Beryl Markham |
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fa0651d
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And somewhere out there, in the river of addicts, alcoholics, wife beaters, doormats, overeducated legalized thieves, fascist police, and bitter rivalries-- someone told me it's a good city, and I don't know what's more frightening
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lies
life
ignorance-is-bliss
small-towns
society
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Volatalistic Phil |
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589c0cd
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"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")"
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small-town
small-town-life
small-towns
night
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Cornell Woolrich |
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57a6d8a
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(This town) doesn't look like anything; it isn't anything. Its five tin-roofed huts cling to the skinny tracks of the Uganda Railway like parasites on a vine.
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small-towns
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Beryl Markham |