3,292 Quotes About New-york

How could she possibly explain the way she felt about New York? She loved it, in that strange way you can love something thaat never loves you back, because it has left its imprint on your soull. Calliope belonged in New York, or maybe she belonged to New York.

There was so much here, so much color and taste and light and motion. So much pain and so much hope. The city was ugly and beautiful at once, and it was always changing, always reintroducing itself to you; you couldn't look away even for a moment, or you might miss the New York of today, which would be differend from tomorrow's New York and next week's New York.

As Karl Rossmann, a poor boy of sixteen who had been packed off to America by his parents because a servant girl had seduced him and got herself with child by him, stood on the liner slowly entering the harbour of New York, a sudden burst of sunshine seemed to illumine the Statue of Liberty, so that he saw it in a new light, although he had sighted it long before. The arm with the sword rose up as if newly stretched aloft, and round the figure blew the free winds of heaven.

One of the great tragedies of my life was that I had the misfortune to arrive in New York City at the beginning of its end.

I never feel as fully awake as when I’m in New York.

If we are transplants, we say we came to New York for its "energy," but the truth is, that energy doesn't come from the streets or the stores or the buzzy power-lunch restaurants. It's not here because of the subways or the block parties or the Puerto Rican Day Parade. We brought it here. It's just the collective energy of us—the by-product and the fumes of the ambition we lugged with us when we came. Ambition: our bright bird-dream and our heavy load.

One of the great tragedies of my life is I had the misfortune of arriving in New York at the beginning of its end... but we cannot choose our time of place and I hurried to New York as fast as I could.

It’s these two opposite states, alone and connected, that hold me.

New York City is mediated by money so visibly. Everywhere everything is mediated by money, so perhaps you could make a brutalist argument for how fabulous it is to live with that so in your face, but my face huts.