A hundred times have I thought New York is a catastrophe and 50 times: It is a beautiful catastrophe.

Our own epoch is determining, day by day, its own style. Our eyes, unhappily, are unable yet to discern it.

Architecture is the masterly, correct, and magnificent play of masses brought together in light. Our eyes are made to see forms in light: light and shade reveal these forms.

We must kill the street. We shall truly enter into modern town planning only after we have accepted this preliminary determination.

The city that has speed has success.

Space and light and order. Those are the things that men need just as much as they need bread or a place to sleep.

Life never stops. The torment of men will be eternal, unless the function of creating and acting and changing, living intensely through each day, be considered an eternal joy.