Alleyway Quotes & Sayings

In all my fantasies about our first kiss - and there'd been about six hundred thousand of them - I never once imagined it would be like that one. Our dream kiss usually involved moonlight, or fog, or moonlight and fog, a very mysterious and romantic combination, at least in the right locale. Moonlit fog beside a lake or a lazy river: romantic. Moonlit fog in almost any other place, like a narrow alleyway: Jack the Ripper. — Rick Yancey

I was lost to my desire for him. He could take me right here in an alleyway off of Tremont Street if he wanted to. He could do anything, I was at his mercy. — Adriane Leigh

Jared glared. Some people, Kami knew, had bedroom eyes. She was saddened to have to admit that Jared had filthy alleyway eyes. — Sarah Rees Brennan

What you are seeking in your retreat, I see clearly in every road and alleyway. — Idries Shah

while Killian glanced nervously at a squad of soldiers marching down the street. When the soldiers left, Killian darted down an alleyway until they reached a maze of warehouses. Celestia cast protesting eyes at Killian, but the twin ignored her. As they jogged along, Talis could hear the lashing of whips inside warehouses, followed by groans and cries for mercy. His skin tingled as if covered in ice as the agonizing sounds trailed behind him. Soon they reached a smaller, dilapidated warehouse with an obese, thuggish guard standing watch outside. He turned as they approached and gave — John Forrester

I once had a large gay following, but I ducked into an alleyway and lost him. — Emo Philips

He laughed. "What's to say? Great paintings - people flock to see them, they draw crowds, they're reproduced endlessly on coffee mugs and mouse pads and anything-you-like. And, I count myself in the following, you can have a lifetime of perfectly sincere museum-going where you traipse around enjoying everything and then go out and have some lunch. But - " crossing back to the table to sit again " - if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think, 'oh, I love this picture because it's universal.' 'I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you." Fingertip gliding over the faded-out photo - the conservator's touch, a touch-without-touching, a communion wafer's space between the surface and his forefinger. — Donna Tartt

It's nice to have one worry marched to the wings and forcefully thrown into the alleyway. — Rob Payne

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I tend to do that. Any life isn't just one story; it's thousands of them. So when I try to tell one of my own, I sometimes go down an alleyway when I should take the main street, or if the story is fourteen blocks long, I sometimes start on block four and have to backtrack to make sense. — Dean Koontz

- if a painting really works down in your heart and changes the way you see, and think, and feel, you don't think, 'oh, I love this picture because it's universal.' 'I love this painting because it speaks to all mankind.' That's not the reason anyone loves a piece of art. It's a secret whisper from an alleyway. Psst, you. Hey kid. Yes you. — Donna Tartt

You're as plain as the nose on your face," said Mr. Pennyworth. "And your nose is remarkably obvious. As is the rest of your face, young man. As are you. For the sake of all that is holy, empty your mind. Now. You are an empty alleyway. You are a vacant doorway. You are nothing. Eyes will not see you. Minds will not hold you. Where you are is nothing and nobody. — Neil Gaiman

I was in the black silence of a medieval street, and blindly I followed its sharp turns, comforted by the height of its narrow tenements, which seemed at any moment capable of falling together, closing this alleyway under indifferent stars like a seam. — Anne Rice

Just then he spotted a German Messerschmitt in the sky ahead of them. It was firing its machine guns and seemed to be aiming right for them. He ordered everyone to dive into the alleyway beside them, and they all took cover just as the fighter roared by, killing all those who remained in its path. Then came another explosion, just behind them. Luc pressed his body down on Monique and Jacqueline, doing everything he could to protect them. But he knew they couldn't stay pinned down. He could hear the German tanks rumbling up the road from the east. The Nazis were approaching far more quickly than he'd expected. They had to keep moving. — Joel C. Rosenberg

Bush put both arms round Hornblower's shoulders and walked with dragging feet. It did not matter that his feet dragged and his legs would not function while he had this support; Hornblower was the best man in the world and Bush could announce it by singing 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' while lurching along the alleyway. — C.S. Forester

I could feel the ghosts of all the girls I'd been behind me in the alleyway, creeping in my wake. I could almost hear my own footsteps as an echo. For a moment it was so real that I spooked myself. I stopped and turned to look. There was only silence and darkness. I walked on. — Joshilyn Jackson

Some people need Hell. If you're the type of guy who sees a hooker in an alleyway and instinctively thinks, "Hey, now there's something I could rape and kill without any consequences," then the concept of Hell might really keep you out of trouble. — Sarah Silverman

I've seen in the alleyway near the front entrance; the one with the glowing yellow eyes. — Jessica Sorensen

Al, you're the most wonderful man I've ever been terrified by down a dark alleyway. Will you marry me? — J.L. Merrow

Gifford Ulrich didn't know the distance from despair to hope, but he knew hope didn't sleep in alleys. — Dan Groat

She was runway; I was alleyway. — Stacey Marie Brown

With his long hair as ragged as rain and as black as thunder, he would have looked quite at home upon a windswept moor, or lurking in some pitch-black alleyway, or perhaps in a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe. — Susanna Clarke

Because baby, I'm wild pussy and wild pussy can't be bought. Wild pussy doesn't like having pretty things thrown at it and being expected to do the samba on someone's cock in return. Wild pussy doesn't do deals. Wild pussy lives free and for itself and takes it however it likes it; on a bed, on a couch, on the hood of a car, in a bathroom stall or up against a wall in an alleyway and it laughs the entire time. I've known you for a while now Chase. I know you've never had wild pussy and I know you never will. Wild pussy doesn't fuck uptight cock. And it sure as hell doesn't like silk boxers — Madeline Sheehan

Called nine-one-one," Howie was saying, "and then I heard something in the alleyway, so I went back there and"
Howie coughed
"and valiantly attacked his knife with my guts, to no avail."
"Did you get a good look at him? Could you describe him?"
Howie smiled wanly. "Yeah. He was about yay long"
he held up his hands, four inches apart
"thin, made of steel. Pointy. Sharp. — Barry Lyga

The Mologai. The sun shines less in the Mologai, but heat gathers there in the shade and smoke. Steep cramped dwellings, shops oldish. Oddly, smoke pervading the whole area. The streets cling to contours. You clamber up steps from one narrow alleyway to the next, among the stalls. It's an antique hunter's paradise - or rather purgatory, because the promise of heaven takes time to realize. — Jonathan Gash

Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, calling me to to them. — Veronica Roth

brooch caught her eye. It was in the shape of a snake and its eyes sparkled with rubies, just like her mother's bracelet. She picked it up to examine it closer. How odd it was to find something so similar. "Psst." Claire jumped at the sudden sound, and dropped the brooch on the table, her heart racing. A man stood in an alleyway behind the booth, his face cloaked in shadow under a gray hood. He took a step — Casey Odell

Merely litter, as if it must have some ominous significance. As it gazed at me from the cupped palm of my right hand, I didn't realize that the sounds of the city were diminishing, until suddenly I became aware that a profound silence had fallen over the alleyway. For an instant, I thought that I had gone deaf, but then I heard myself say, What's happening? — Dean Koontz

Something like the alleyway scene, where it's like a mini one-act play and you run the whole 18 pages of it, it's so much easier to get lost in it. That's why actors love doing theater so much, I guarantee you. It's refreshing to be able to do something where you don't have to be stopped every two seconds, and you can just play it out and it's done. — Dylan O'Brien

Gay men are guardians of the masculine impulse. To have anonymous sex in a dark alleyway is to pay homage to the dream of male freedom. The unknown stranger is a wandering pagan god. The altar, as in pre-history, is anywhere you kneel. — Camille Paglia

I started skating when I was about 10 years old. It was in an alleyway. I picked up my brother's skateboard and stood on it. I started to roll down the alley, and I yelled at my brother asking him how I turn the thing. At the end of the alley, I just jumped off, picked up the board and physically turned it around. — Tony Hawk

Despite my wretched command of the Spanish language, I understand sexo. But even if I were in the mood to, y'know, cheat on my wife and illegally solicit cheap sex from a New Wave midget in a pitch-black alleyway in the murder capitol of the goddamn world, this winsome lass wouldn't be my first choice. She looks like eight miles of bad road, stuffed into four and a half feet of permanent intravenous antibiotic regimen. — Joshua Ellis

There should be a word for that brief period just after waking when the mind is full of warm pink nothing. You lie there entirely empty of thought, except for a growing suspicion that heading towards you, like a sockful of damp sand in a nocturnal alleyway, are all the recollections you'd really rather do without, and which amount to the fact that the only mitigating factor in your horrible future is the certainty that it will be quite short. — Terry Pratchett

She would never tell him and was ashamed to admit it, even to herself, but she'd fallen in love with him the instant she'd seen him. She'd been taken at gunpoint to the alleyway outside a gallery showing her paintings and had seen a powerful man, not tall but immensely broad. He was facing three armed thugs and he hadn't looked frightened at all.
He'd looked dangerous.
And she'd fallen. — Lisa Marie Rice

As soon as he had disappeared Deborah made for the trees fringing the lawn, and once in the shrouded wood felt herself safe.
She walked softly along the alleyway to the pool. The late sun sent shafts of light between the trees and onto the alleyway, and a myriad insects webbed their way in the beams, ascending and descending like angels on Jacob's ladder. But were they insects, wondered Deborah, or particles of dust, or even split fragments of light itself, beaten out and scattered by the sun?
It was very quiet. The woods were made for secrecy. They did not recognise her as the garden did. ("The Pool") — Daphne Du Maurier

It's a pervasive and beguiling myth that the people who design instruments of death end up being killed by them. There is almost no foundation in fact. Colonel Shrapnel wasn't blown up, M. Guillotin died with his head on, Colonel Gatling wasn't shot. If it hadn't been for the murder of cosh and blackjack maker Sir William Blunt-Instrument in an alleyway, the rumour would never have got started. — Terry Pratchett

A writer's tools are desperation, humiliation, loneliness, love, affection, heartache, happiness, glee, defeat, victory, setbacks, and a desire for personal redemption. People with the experience to know of such things relate that in order to write one must suffer an alleyway of anguish, and experience an array of physical and emotional pain. More than anything else, emotional growth, and writing are each reflective of the immeasurable gain accomplished through studious reflection. — Kilroy J. Oldster

It was warm and like the spring and I walked down the alleyway of trees, warmed from the sun on the wall, and found we still lived in the same house and that it all looked the same as when I had left it. — Ernest Hemingway,

This is unfair. You can save my life, assault me in an alleyway-"
"Assault, was it?"
"Just look at you! It's a wonder you are even sitting upright."
"How odd. My definition of 'assault' must be in error."
"You are not made of iron, you know. You should have alerted me of your injury at once. You could have bled to death! What were you thinking?"
His mouth twitched. "I'm going to assume that was a rhetorical question."
Heat burned her cheeks. — Kristen Callihan

She reached up and lay her hand on my cheek. "You have the sweetest face," she said, looking at me dreamily. "It's like the perfect kitchen."
I fought not to smile. This was the delirium. She'd fade in and out of it before the profound exhaustion dragged her down into unconsciousness. If you see someone spouting nonsense to themselves in an alleyway in Tarbean, odds are they're not actually crazy, just a sweet-eater deranged by too much denner. "A kitchen?"
"Yes," she said. "Everything matches and the sugar bowl is right where it should be. — Patrick Rothfuss

Isaiah falls into the shadows with his back against the warehouse wall. His eyes travel back and forth down the alleyway. An hour ago, I never would have thought that someone like him would be my savior, but he is. What type of person would I be if I left my savior behind? "I'm not leaving without you." — Katie McGarry

He was an orphan, taken on by the alchemist to be little better than a slave. Will had never, not once, had anywhere to go
not really.
He realized this for the first time as he was crouching in the alleyway, but the realization, instead of making him feel unhappy, made him feel strangely free. It was like walking into a room and hearing everyone go silent and knowing yes, it was true, they *were* all talking about you; and they had been saying that your feet smelled like rotten fish; but also that you didn't care. — Lauren Oliver

And things are about to get pretty crazy in this alleyway. Even for Amsterdam. — Gayle Forman

The donkey would've made for an ass-tastic photo." Tracy pulled her camera from her bag. Lifting her lens toward the balcony of a terracotta home along the alleyway, she captured a shot of rustic blue shutters missing a few louvers. "All — Beverly Preston

This is the part they don't tell you about in the movies. Or in On the Road. This is not rock 'n' roll.

You are not William Burroughs, and it doesn't make a damn bit of difference if Kurt Cobain was slumped over in an alleyway in Seattle the day Bleach came out. There is no junkie chic. This is not Soho and you are not Sid Vicious. You are not a drugstore cowboy and you are not spotting trains. You are not a part of anything - no underground sect, no counter-culture movement, no music scene, nothing. You have just been released from jail and are walking down Mission Street, alternating between taking a hit off a cigarette and puking, looking for coins on the ground so you can catch a bus as you shit yourself. — Joe Clifford