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Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm.
--
Ch. I : The Old Pyncheon Family

 

Nathaniel Hawthorne

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One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
The house you lived in, the house that all of us know.

 

Conrad Aiken

 

I was born on January 18, 1910 at 4 Seymour Street, off. London Road, Liverpool, Lancashire, England, Great. Britain, Europe, the world, the solar system, the universe. Writing out my full address like this was a great satisfaction when I was a boy. Seymour Street had a solid row of narrow, four-story houses on both sides, each with a flight of steps leading up to the front door, and what we called an "airy," a rectangular hole in front of the basement window, often with steps leading down to a basement underneath the front door. The streets of the neighborhood spoke of the Napoleonic Wars in the early nineteenth century— St. Vincent Street, Rodney Street, Lord Nelson Street. Close by was dirty Lime Street Station; St. George's Hall, a magnificent classical structure the center of Liverpudlian splendor; the theaters; and the great Picton Library with its huge circular reading room. The neighborhood was very mixed; we belonged to the English minority in Liverpool, a city largely populated by the Irish and the Welsh.

 

Kenneth Boulding

 

Woman: Do come along quick, there's a house on fire.
Fire Chief: A house on fire? Just a moment, lady – what's the address?
Woman: Grimshaw Street.
Fire Chief: Grimshaw Street – Grimshaw ... now wait a minute, I know it as well as can be, and I just can't place it.
Woman: Oh come along, it's only just round...
Fire Chief: No, no, no – don't tell me, let me try and think of it for myself. Grimshaw St–... oh, isn't that annoying, I could walk straight to it, and I can't think of it.

 

Robb Wilton

 

A man in the house is worth two in the street.

 

Mae West

 

My teacher Stefan Wolpe was a Marxist and he felt my music was too esoteric at the time. And he had his studio on a proletarian street, on Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue. . . . He was on the second floor and we were looking out the window, and he said, "What about the man on the street?" At that moment . . . Jackson Pollock was crossing the street.

 

Morton Feldman