One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years

One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years

George Washington, with his right art upraised, sits his iron
horse at the lower corner of Union Square. . read more

George Washington, with his right art upraised, sits his iron
horse at the lower corner of Union Square. . . . Should the
General raise his left hand as he has raised his right, it would
point to a quarter of the city that forms a haven for the
oppressed and suppressed of foreign lands. In the cause of
national or personal freedom they have found refuge here, and the
patriot who made it for them sits his steed, overlooking their
district, while he listens through his left ear to vaudeville
that caricatures the posterity of the proteges.

If there ever was an aviary overstocked with jays it is that
Yaptown-on-the-Hudson, call New York. Cosmopolitan they call read more

If there ever was an aviary overstocked with jays it is that
Yaptown-on-the-Hudson, call New York. Cosmopolitan they call it,
you bet. So's a piece of fly-paper. You listen close when
they're buzzing and trying to pull their feet out of the sticky
stuff. "Little old New York's good enough for us"--that's what
they sing.

New York is the Caoutchouc City. . . . They have the furor
rubberendi.

New York is the Caoutchouc City. . . . They have the furor
rubberendi.

Practically everybody in New York has half a mind to write a book -and does

Practically everybody in New York has half a mind to write a book -and does

You'd think New York people was all wise; but no, they can't get
a chance to learn. Every thing's read more

You'd think New York people was all wise; but no, they can't get
a chance to learn. Every thing's too compressed. Even the
hay-seeds are bailed hay-seeds. But what else can you expect
from a town that's shut off for the world by the ocean on one
side and New Jersey on the other?

Well, little old Noisyville-on-the-Subway is good enough for
me. . . . Me for it from the rathskellers up. read more

Well, little old Noisyville-on-the-Subway is good enough for
me. . . . Me for it from the rathskellers up. Sixth Avenue is
the West now to me.

Far below and around lay the city like a ragged purple dream.
The irregular houses were like the broken read more

Far below and around lay the city like a ragged purple dream.
The irregular houses were like the broken exteriors of cliffs
lining deep gulches and winding streams. Some were mountainous;
some lay in long, monotonous rows like, the basalt precipices
hanging over desert canons. Such was the background of the
wonderful, cruel, enchanting, bewildering, fatal, great city.
But into this background were cut myriads of brilliant
parallelograms and circles and squares through which glowed many
colored lights. And out of the violet and purple depths ascended
like the city's soul, sound and odors and thrills that make up
the civic body. There arose the breath of gaiety unrestrained,
of love, of hate, of all the passions that man can know. There
below him lay all things, good or bad, that can be brought from
the four corners of the earth to instruct, please, thrill,
enrich, elevate, cast down, nurture or kill. Thus the flavor of
it came up to him and went into his blood.

They say life's what happens when you're busy making other plans. But sometimes in New York, life is what happens read more

They say life's what happens when you're busy making other plans. But sometimes in New York, life is what happens when you're waiting for a table.