Any city, however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these are at war with one another.

The first requisite to happiness is that a man be born in a famous city.

I have never felt salvation in nature. I love cities above all.

The screech and mechanical uproar of the big city turns the citified heads, fills citified ears—as the song of birds, wind in the trees, animal cries, or as the voices and songs of his loved ones once filled his heart. He is sidewalk happy.

One need merely visit the marketplace and the graveyard to determine whether a city is in both physical and metaphysical order.

What is the city but the people?

No city should be too large for a man to walk out of in a morning.

It is men who make a city, not walls or ships.

Today’s city is the most vulnerable social structure ever conceived by man.

In Washington, the first thing people tell you is what their job is. In Los Angeles you learn their star sign. In Houston you’re told how rich they are. And in New York they tell you what their rent is.

Does anybody really want to attend to cities other than to flee, fleece, privatize, butcher, or decimate them?

The life of the city never lets you go, nor do you ever want it to.

A large city cannot be experientially known; its life is too manifold for any individual to be able to participate in it.