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  10  /  16  

Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth, nor blest abode
But the hope, the burning hope, and the read more

Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth, nor blest abode
But the hope, the burning hope, and the road, the lonely road.
Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind,
For we go seeking cities that we shall never find.

by John Masefield Found in: Cities Quotes,
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When you look at a city, it's like reading the hopes, aspirations and pride of everyone who built it.

When you look at a city, it's like reading the hopes, aspirations and pride of everyone who built it.

by Hugh Newell Jacobsen Found in: Cities Quotes,
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  8  /  11  

If you're going to San Francisco, Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair

If you're going to San Francisco, Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair

by J. B. Phillips Found in: Cities Quotes,
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  12  /  12  

I'm leaving because the weather is too good. I hate London when it's not raining.

I'm leaving because the weather is too good. I hate London when it's not raining.

by Groucho Marx Found in: Cities Quotes,
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  28  /  27  

I dwelt in a city enchanted,
And lonely indeed was my lot;
. . . .
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I dwelt in a city enchanted,
And lonely indeed was my lot;
. . . .
Though the latitude's rather uncertain,
And the longitude also is vague,
The persons I pity who know not the City
The beautiful City of Prague.

by W.j. Prowse Found in: Cities Quotes,
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  7  /  9  

Every man cannot go to Corinthum.
[Lat., Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum.]

Every man cannot go to Corinthum.
[Lat., Non cuivis homini contingit adire Corinthum.]

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  3  /  12  

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men.

by John Milton Found in: Cities Quotes,
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A rose-red city half as old as Time.

A rose-red city half as old as Time.

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  17  /  19  

No history much? Perhaps. Only this ominous
Dark beauty flowering under veils,
Trapped in the spectrum of read more

No history much? Perhaps. Only this ominous
Dark beauty flowering under veils,
Trapped in the spectrum of a dying style:
A village like an instinct left to rust,
Composed around the echo of a pistol-shot.

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