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There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter—the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last—the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh eyes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company. – EB White, 1949

15 / 01

36 notes

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I had to go to Midtown for a meeting this afternoon. Working downtown takes away some of the “I live in New York” feeling, and I’m not sure why because it’s pretty impressive. But standing on the 41st floor of the GM Building and passing Central Park on the way to the train gave me wings and helium.

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30 / 07

1 note

Fashion-wise, returning to San Francisco from New York is a bit like going from a cocktail party to a slumber party

Greg Hathaway (via caitlinmarie)

18 / 02

1 note

Eighteen fifty makes me misty.

juliaroy:

Possibly the oldest picture of NY taken at Broadway between Franklin and Leonard Streets.

ryanokeefe:

nevver:

Is this the oldest photograph of New York? (Broadway below Canal, May 1850)

23 / 12

87 notes

Planner Reads » Blog Archive » That Sounds Clever.

30 / 11

0 notes

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter—the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these three trembling cities the greatest is the last—the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high-strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from Italy to set up a small grocery store in a slum, or a young girl arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh eyes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company.

Here is New York, E. B. White, 1949

(via cdixon)(via fred-wilson)

(via lammer)

01 / 11

219 notes

I ♥ NY:

This is my favorite account from the feature in New York Magazine’s “My First New York” issue (20 April 2009). I think I teared up a little when I first read it. When I told my then-boyfriend, he looked at me like I was absolutely, shambolically insane. I stand by my choice.

I ♥ NY:

This is my favorite account from the feature in New York Magazine’s “My First New York” issue (20 April 2009). I think I teared up a little when I first read it. When I told my then-boyfriend, he looked at me like I was absolutely, shambolically insane. I stand by my choice.

11 / 10

Notes

“Sometimes it strikes me that New York is like a macro-version of that place in between slabs of concrete where, despite all odds, a tiny plants decides to sprout.” [Sarah Carlson]

27 / 05

Notes