Our National Flower Is The Concrete Cloverleaf.

Adventure Is Humdrum And Routine Unless One Assimilates It, Unless One Relates It To A Central Core Which Grows Within And Gives It Contour And Significance. Raw Experience Is Empty, Just As Empty As The Forecastle Of A Whaler As In A Chamber Of A Counting House; For It Is Not What One Does, But In A Manifold Sense, What One Realizes That Keeps Existence From Being Vain And Trivial.

The Artist Does Not Illustrate Science; ... [but] He Frequently Responds To The Same Interests That A Scientist Does, And Expresses By A Visual Synthesis What The Scientist Converts Into Analytical Formulae Or Experimental Demonstrations.

Iron And Coal Dominated Everywhere, From Grey To Black: The Black Boots, The Black Stove-pipe Hat, The Black Coach Or Carriage, The Black Iron Frame Of The Hearth, The Black Cooking Pots And Pans And Stoves. Was It A Mourning? Was It Protective Coloration? Was It Mere Depression Of The Senses? No Matter What The Original Color Of The Paleotechnic Milieu Might Be It Was Soon Reduced By Reason Of The Soot And Cinders That Accompanied Its Activities, To Its Characteristic Tones, Grey, Dirty-brown, Black.

The Chief Enemy Of Peace Is The Spirit Of Unreason Itself: An Inability To Conceive Alternatives, An Unwillingness To Reconsider Old Prejudices, To Part With Ideological Obsessions, To Entertain New Ideas Or To Improve New Plans.

Today, The Degradation Of The Inner Life Is Symbolized By The Fact That The Only Place Sacred From Interruption Is The Private Toilet.