Books Are Solitudes In Which

Walkers Are 'practitioners Of The City,' For The City Is Made To Be Walked. A City Is A Language, A Repository Of Possibilities, And Walking Is The Act Of Speaking That Language, Of Selecting From Those Possibilities. Just As Language Limits What Can Be Said, Architecture Limits Where One Can Walk, But The Walker Invents Other Ways To Go.

Anarchists Believe That We Can Govern Ourselves In The Absence Of Coercive And Centralized Authority; The Underlying Premise About Human Nature (to Use An Infinitely Problematized But Necessary Term Here) Is Fundamentally Positive. And The Evidence That In Disasters People Are Really Pretty Kind, Generous, Brave, Resourceful And Creative Fed That.

A Labyrinth Is A Symbolic Journey . . . But It Is A Map We Can Really Walk On, Blurring The Difference Between Map And World.

Sometimes It Seems That The Fate Of The World Is Decided Entirely In The Ether Of Electronic Communications And Corporate Backroom Deals.

Las Vegas Suggests That The Thirst For Places, For Cities And Gardens And Wilderness, Is Unslaked, That People Will Still Seek Out The Experience Of Wandering About In The Open Air To Examine The Architecture, The Spectacles, And The Stuff For Sale, Will Still Hanker After Surprises And Strangers. That The City As A Whole Is One Of The Most Pedestrian-unfriendly Places In The World Suggests Something Of The Problems To Be Faced, But That Its Attraction Is A Pedestrian Oasis Suggests The Possibility Of Recovering The Spaces In Which Walking Is Viable.