You Know, I Think That

Look, Gail." Roark Got Up, Reached Out, Tore A Thick Branch Off A Tree, Held It In Both Hands, One Fist Closed At Each End; Then, His Wrists And Knuckles Tensed Against The Resistance, He Bent The Branch Slowly Into An Arc. "now I Can Make What I Want Of It: A Bow, A Spear, A Cane, A Railing. That's The Meaning Of Life." "your Strength?" "your Work." He Tossed The Branch Aside. "the Material The Earth Offers You And What You Make Of It . . .

A Man Of Independent Judgment Is A Man Of Profound Self-esteem.

The Causes Of Illusions Are Not Pretty To Discover. They're Either Vicious Or Tragic.

If There Is Any One Proof Of A Man's Incompetence, It Is The Stagnant Mentality Of A Worker Who, Doing Some Small Routine Job In A Vast Undertaking, Does Not Care To Look Beyond The Lever Of A Machine, Does Not Choose To Know How The Machine Got There Or What Makes His Job Possible, And Proclaims That The Management Of The Undertaking Is Parasitical And Unnecessary.

I Take No Pride In Hopeless Longing; I Wouldn't Hold A Stillborn Aspiration. I'd Want To Have It, To Make It, To Live It.