Capitalism: Nothing so mean could be right. Greed is the ugliest of the capital sins.

Life is already too short to waste on speed.

Salome had but seven veils; the artist has a thousand.

I believe that there is a kind of poetry, even a kind of truth, in simple fact.

In this glare of brilliant emptiness, in this arid intensity of pure heat, in the heart of a weird solitude, great silence and grand desolution, all things recede to distrances out of reach, relecting light but impossible to touch, annihilating all thought and all that men have made to a spasm of whirling dust far out on the golden desert.

For this world that men have made, none of us is bad enough. For the world that made us, none is good enough.

Industrial tourism is a threat to the national parks. But the chief victims of the system are the motorized tourists. They are being robbed and robbing themselves. So long as they are unwilling to crawl out of their cars they will not discover the treasures of the national parks and will never escape the stress and turmoil of the urban-suburban complexes which they had hoped, presumably, to leave behind for a while.