He fell in love with Manhattan's skyline, like a first-time brothel guest falling for a seasoned professional. He mused over her reflections in the black East River at dusk, dawn, or darkest night, and each haloed light-in a tower or strung along the jeweled and sprawling spider legs of the Brooklyn Bridge's spans-hinted at some meaning, which could be understood only when made audible by music and encoded in lyrics. Arthur Phillips
This is the city, and I am one of the citizens/ Whatever interests the rest interests me
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Walt Whitman
My advice for aspiring writers is go to New York. And if you can’t go to New York, go to the place that represents New York to you, where the standards for writing are high, there are other people who share your dreams, and where...
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Walter Kirn
In some neighborhoods, faces mature faster than bodies.
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Brandon Stanton
When you're single, your weekend days are wide-open vistas that extend in every direction; in a relationship, they're like the sky over Manhattan: punctured, hemmed in, compressed.
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Adelle Waldman
Practically everybody in New York has half a mind to write a book -and does
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Groucho Marx
More Quotes By Arthur Phillips
So why did poor artists originally hang around in cafes?"" I don't know. Inspiration from the atmosphere."" Ha! No, you've been tricked, too, just like the rest of us. Cafes didn't have inspirational atmosphere at first. That only came later, when you knew artists had...
The truth is, anyone who puts so much of herself and her life into art as you do must naturally fear any failure in that art as a potential threat to your life. And so you protect your art more than you protect your health...
But no, music lasted longer than anything it inspired. After LPs, cassettes, and CDs, when matrimony was about to decay into its component elements–alimony and acrimony–the songs startled him and regained all their previous, pre- Rachel meanings, as if they had not only conjured her...
You deicde, and you make our night what you want. Brilliant and ours. Stupid and theirs.
Maria, groaning for scraps, would drape his head on my feet as I ate, trying to camouflage himself as my napkin or the rug.
