The great trains howling from track to track all night. The taut and telegraphic murmur of ten thousand city wires, drawn most cruelly against a city sky. The rush of city waters, beneath the city streets. The passionate passing of the night's last El.
I'm a product of the city for sure.
I like to walk around Manhattan, catching glimpses of its wild life, the pigeons and cats and girls.
Life is a long headache in a noisy street.
When a New Yorker looks like he has a suntan, it's probably rust.
There are natures that go to the streams of life in great cities as the hart goes to the water brooks.
I... wonder what it is in the New York air that enables me to sit up till all hours of the night in an atmosphere which in London would make a horse dizzy, but here merely clears the brain.
I've always lived in a city. I'm very social, and in a place like New York, even if you're alone on the subway, you never feel lonely.
A flat black bug, that is London.
The whiskey died away in time and was renewed and died again, but the street ran on. From that night the thousand streets ran as one street, with imperceptible corners and changes of scene.
New York is all about sort of a corporate sensibility, and it is squeezed out room for any other kind of sensibility, money talks, bullshit walks, I guess.
