By: Toby Ferris

The accidents of life are life, in other words.

By: Toby Ferris

Routines are composed of sub-routines, which are in turn composed of habits.

By: Toby Ferris

Or was I—a deeper or possible more pragmatic fear—merely a clause or a term in someone else’s contract?

By: Toby Ferris

If you try to walk its perimeter you are committing a minor spatial infraction…

By: Toby Ferris

We live in an age where the sky is not dead, but not yet peopled

By: Toby Ferris

And here was a map of it all, illegible, broken, zany, misdirected…

By: Toby Ferris

In the right hands, the proper administration of affairs is an ethical activity.

By: Toby Ferris

Some of my most tedious, hence productive, hours have been spent in libraries…

By: Toby Ferris

Paper architects, the mall and the città ideale

By: Toby Ferris

The irony of archaeology: it explores space, not time.

By: Toby Ferris

A city entails a wilderness.

By: Toby Ferris

…the body on its inside is all smoky mirrors…

By: Toby Ferris

The Ideal City is, like any city, built piecemeal.

By: Toby Ferris

Whatever else, the answer to the problem of failure is most assuredly not success.

By: Peggy Nelson

Toby Ferris and the Anatomy of Norbiton: The Ideal City of the Failed Life