San Francisco itself is art, above all literary art. Every block is a short story, every hill a novel. Every home a poem, every dweller within immortal. That is the whole truth. One of us is obviously mistaken. Of course if you like your kids, if you love them from the moment they begin, you yourself begin all over again, in them, with them, and so there is something more to the world again. Nothing good ever ends. No man's guilt is not yours, nor is any man's innocence a thing apart. No enemy is so annoying as one who was a friend, or still is a friend, and there are many more of these than one would suspect. The streets made me, and the streets stink, but I love them, for I was born in them out of flesh and I was born in them out of spirit. | 
