Slowly the wasters and despoilers are impoverishing our land, our nature, and our beauty, so that there will not be one beach, one hill, one lane, one meadow, one forest free from the debris of man and the stigma of his improvidence.

Self-restraint may be alien to the human temperament, but humanity without restraint will dig its own grave.

There is nothing harder to come by than detachment and solitude; and nothing more important.

The process of maturing is an art to be learned, an effort to be sustained.

Art can excite, titillate, please, entertain, and sometimes shock; but its ultimate function is to ennoble.

The world of sight is still limitless. It is the artist who limits vision to the cramped dimensions of his own ego.

Is there no end to this escalation of desire?