Our modern industrial economy takes a mountain covered with trees, lakes, running streams and transforms it into a mountain of junk, garbage, slime pits, and debris.

I must confess that I know nothing whatsoever about true underlying reality, never having met any.

You long for success? Start at the bottom; dig down.

The industrial corporation is the natural enemy of nature.

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.

The artist's job? To be a miracle worker: make the blind see, the dull feel, the dead to live.

In everything but brains and brawn, women are vastly superior to men. A different race.