City

There were a million small towns like this all over the world. Each as dark, as lonely, each as removed, as full of shuddering and wonder.

What I say is, a town isn’t a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it’s got a bookstore, it knows it’s not foolin’ a soul.

... dead cities have a way of making you want to whisper, to watch the sun go down.

Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance. Just as I am improbable here, in Illinois, in a small town by a ' quiet lake. All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another. And it is so good to hear the sounds, and know that Mexico City is still there and the people moving and living...

The ravine was indeed the place where you came to look at the two things of life, the ways of man and the ways of the natural world. The town was, after all, only a large ship filled with constantly moving survivors, bailing out the grass, chipping away the rust.

Rome — is like a river, in that its past, present and future are all rolling by you at the same time.

All cities are the same, and all cities are different. They all have colors.