Facts Mean Nothing To Wounded Feelings.

One Feels A Quickening Of The Pulse When One Crosses A Border.

Great Unhappiness Is Incompatible With The Belief That It Will Ever End.

We Are All Proprietary Toward Cities We Love. 'ah, You Should Have Seen Her When I Loved Her!' We Say, Reciting Glories Since Faded Or Defiled, Trusting Her To No One Else; That Others Should Know And Love Her In Her Present Fallen State (for She Must Fall Without Our Vigilant Love) Is A Species Of Betrayal.

Collecting Is Like Sex; Satisfaction Renews And Creates New Appetites.

I Love Cloisters, Which Are The Architectural Equivalent Of A Theological Concept: Perfect Freedom Within Set Boundaries.