My own beauty reflected The lake was silent for some time. Finally, it said: "I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected." Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist Narcissus and Goldmund beautyego
A city cannot be a work of art There is a basic esthetic limitation on what can be done with cities: A city cannot be a work of art. Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities The order of life artcities