Seattle Is This Curious Liberal Island.

Life, As The Most Ancient Of All Metaphors Insists, Is A Journey; And The Travel Book, In Its Deceptive Simulation Of The Journey's Fits And Starts, Rehearses Life's Own Fragmentation. More Even Than The Novel, It Embraces The Contingency Of Things.

Insofar As I Think About Postmodernism At All, And It Doesn't Exactly Keep Me Awake At Nights, I Think Of It As Something That Happens To One, Not A Style One Affects. We're Postmoderns Because We're Not Modernists. The Modernist Writers—pound, Eliot, Joyce, Stevens, Yeats, Woolf, Williams—spoke With A Kind Of Vatic Authority: They Were Really The Last Of The Romantics, For Whom Authorship Itself Was Like Being A Solitary Prophet In The Wasteland.

Interstate Highways Dull The Reality Of Place And Distance Almost As Effectively As Jetliners Do: I Loathe Their Scary Monotony.

Every White House Has Had Its Intellectuals, But Very Few Presidents Have Been Intellectuals Themselves - Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Woodrow Wilson, The List More Or Less Stops There.

We Need – More Urgently Than Architectural Utopias, Ingenious Traffic Disposal Systems, Or Ecological Programmes – To Comprehend The Nature Of Citizenship, To Make Serious Imaginative Assessment Of That Special Relationship Between The Self And The City; Its Unique Plasticity, Its Privacy And Freedom.