Great cities attract ambitious people. You can sense it when you walk around one. In a hundred subtle ways, the city sends you a message: you could do more; you should try harder.
The surprising thing is how different these messages can be. New York tells you, above all: you should make more money. There are other messages too, of course. You should be hipper. You should be better looking. But the clearest message is that you should be richer.
What I like about Boston (or rather Cambridge) is that the message there is: you should be smarter. You really should get around to reading all those books you've been meaning to.
B&W photo is from my camera, second photo of shelves from linked article.
Upon stumbling upon it, you might imagine a story of a college athlete who fell from society’s grace, but rumor has it, this unusual sight is actually an art installation that just “popped up” in May of 2014 and has been steadily expanding and attracting visitors who sometimes add their own trophies to the collection. Although the trophies are not bolted to the four metal shelves in any way, free to be taken, people just don’t.
How does a writer manage to turn out such tortuous syntax? It happens when he shovels phrase after phrase onto the page in the order which each one occurs to him.
The problem is that the order in which thoughts occur to the writer is different from the order in which they are easily discovered by a reader. It’s a syntactic version of the curse of knowledge. The writer can see the links among the concepts in his internal web of knowledge, and has forgotten that a reader needs to build an orderly tree to decipher them from his string of words.