It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.

Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930), Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Novels and Stories, Volume I

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; . . . And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincoln’s Inn Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery.

Charles Dickens (1812-1870), Bleak House

Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over the London cloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk, but on none, I dare bet, who are on a stranger errand than you and I.

Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930), Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Novels and Stories, Volume I

I drive a motorbike, so there is the whiff of the grim reaper round every corner, especially in London.

Benedict Cumberbatch (b.1976)

Whenever a stranger is bold enough to hail a cab, not one, but half a dozen come at once, obedient to his call; and the eagerness the drivers display is truly touching.

Max Schlesinger (1822-1881), Saunterings in and about London