Cities were always like people, showing their varying personalities to the traveler. Depending on the city and on the traveler, there might begin a mutual love, or dislike, friendship, or enmity. Where one city will rise a certain individual to glory, it will destroy another who is not suited to its personality. Only through travel can we know where we belong or not, where we are loved and where we are rejected.
Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.
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The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and beauty in the world.
It is the only city in the world where starving to death is still considered an art.
Leaving this city is like saying goodbye to an old sweetheart. You want to linger as long as possible.
This city was, as some said, the most beautiful mistress a man could ever want, but never cross her: like any good woman, she might just cut off your balls for the hell of it.
When a man is tired of it, he is tired of life; for there is in this city all that life can afford.
To go to bed at night in this city marks you as a little queer. For a long time your friends will be a little uncomfortable about it. Nobody goes to bed in here until they have killed the night. Appointments with a friend are habitually made for after midnight at the cafe.
I had rather be first in a village than second at this city.
Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom. And in freedom, most people find sin.
This city, a universal beauty where poet and archeologist, diplomat and merchant, princess and sailor, northerner and westerner screams with same admiration. The whole world thinks that this city is the most beautiful place on earth.