Go where we may, rest where we will, / Eternal London haunts us still.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852)

The city defeated him. It refused to be bent into shape; it stayed a willful, sprawling, sinful place. It even told him as much. When he walked through the gutted wreck of old Saint Paul’s, he tripped and fell over a piece of rubble — a tombstone. When he got to his feet and dusted himself down he saw that it read, in Latin, ‘Resurgam’ — ‘I Will Rise Again.

Jonathan Barnes (b.1979), The Somnambulist (Domino Men)

Do you realise that people die of boredom in London suburbs? It’s the second biggest cause of death amongst the English in general. Sheer boredom . . .

Alexander McCall Smith (b.1948), Friends, Lovers, Chocolate

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew – / Wanted to know what the River knew, Twenty Bridges or twenty-two, / For they were young, and the Thames was old / And this is the tale that River told.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936), The River’s Tale

On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes, / the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes. / I wipe them away with a black woolly glove / And try not to notice I’ve fallen in love.

Wendy Cope (b.1945), Serious Concerns