One of the great pleasure of a great city is walking. And walking and walking, which is how we spent an afternoon last week in New York. It was a day full of bluster, and while we were in MoMA where (brag alert) our daughter works as a curatorial assistant, rain swept through. By the time we stepped back outside, the umbrellas were closing and the puddles were shining. Our destination was that bookshop among bookshops, St. Mark’s, but first we meandered, among the shivery daffodils in Bryant Park and out onto 

AKA East 41 Street, a two block stretch between Grand Central and…

…the beautiful stone lair of Fortitude and Patience.

Bronze (I think) plaques stud the sidewalk all along the way, each one an illustrated quote from a writer, a lovely, literary, yellow brick road. Paul risked life and limb–unless you harbor a strong streak of masochism, you really don’t want to dawdle on a mid-town sidewalk at 5 PM–to take photos of the ones I liked best, and here some are, starting with my two favorites:


And a couple more:

And of course:

It’s a measure of my something that, except for pictures of my girls and nieces, these are the only photos I thought to take during our entire visit. I even forgot to take a picture at my wonderful publisher Candlewick which, more later. But happily we caught these, burnished and bright in the April air.
And if you can take one more quote, some daunting/inspiring lines from Verlyn Klinkengorg’s “Several Short Sentences About Writing”: 
“In our world–the writing world–authority always rests in the hand of the reader, who can simply close the book and choose another. ..And yet she’s willing–yearning–to surrender her authority to the author. And keep reading.”     
And a chicken-and-egg one I’ll be thinking about for a while: “When it comes to writing, the intensity of the writer’s feelings and the power of the subject mean almost nothing. We only glimpse that power and intensity in the power and intensity of the prose.”

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