The fate of the architect is the strangest of all. How often he expends his whole soul, his whole heart and passion, to produce buildings into which he himself may never enter.

Certain defects are necessary for the existence of individuality.

We blame equally him who is too proud to put a proper value on his own merit and him who prizes too highly his spurious worth.

Chess is the touchstone of intellect.

The ideal of beauty is simplicity and tranquility.

Error is to truth as sleep is to waking. I have observed that one turns, as if refreshed, from error back to truth.

I bid the chords sweet music make, And all must follow in my wake.