Not long ago I obtained an original 1949 edition of the classic Here is New York by E.B. White. He wrote the short monograph in the summer of 1948 during an unusually hot time. Now, more than 50 years later, many of his words still ring true:
The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain illusive.
To this day I wonder what Trevor was pondering as he stared out of our hotel window into the abyss below. Yes, the city has changed in the decades since White’s visit, but much has remained the same. It is why we are grateful for our visits and the opportunity to savor the most amazing city on earth.