They talked about nothing in particular, sentences that had meaning only in the sound of the voices, in warm gaiety, in the ease of complete relaxation.

I am a man who does not exist for others.

But you see," said Roark quietly, "I have, let’s say, sixty years to live. Most of that time will be spent working. I’ve chosen the work I want to do. If I find no joy in it, then I’m only condemning myself to sixty years of torture. And I can find the joy only if I do my work in the best way possible to me. But the best is a matter of standards—and I set my own standards. I inherit nothing. I stand at the end of no tradition. I may, perhaps, stand at the beginning of one.

Thinking men cannot be ruled; ambitious men do not stagnate.

Happiness is not to be achieved at the command of emotional whims.

Kill reverence and you've killed the hero in man.

One loses everything when one loses one's sense of humor.