Frank Lloyd Wright Quotes

God is the great mysterious motivator of what we call nature and it has been said often by philosophers, that nature is the will of God. And, I prefer to say that nature is the only body of God that we shall ever see. If we wish to know the truth concerning anything, we'll find it in the nature of that thing.

Every great architect is — necessarily — a great poet. He must be a great original interpreter of his time, his day, his age.

The thing always happens that you really believe in and the belief in a thing makes it happen.

So the poet in the engineer and the engineer in the poet and both in the architect may be seen here working together, lifelong.

Human beings can be beautiful. If they are not beautiful it is entirely their own fault. It is what they do to themselves that makes them ugly. The longer I live the more beautiful life becomes. If you foolishly ignore beauty, you will soon find yourself without it. Your life will be impoverished. But if you invest in beauty, it will remain with you all the days of your life.

Freedom lies within.

Nature is all the body of God we mortals will ever see.

The spiritual dignity of this new humane life for mankind is the Spirit of Man himself sacrosanct.

give me the luxuries of life and I will gladly do without the necessities.

Philip Johnson is a highbrow. A highbrow is a man educated beyond his capacity. His house is a box of glass — not shelter. The meaning of the word shelter includes privacy.

...there is no true understanding of any art without some knowledge of its philosophy. Only then does its meaning come clear.

Intellectual is not necessarily intelligent either.

. As an architect I see it useless to go on further working for the mechanisms of
machinery for the machine lord and his lady (as they stand) with sane
hope for any sound general basis for any great future for the culture of our nation. Or for culture as of this world.

If you would see how interwoven it is in the warp and woof of civilization ... go at night-fall to the top of one of the down-town steel giants and you may see how in the image of material man, at once his glory and his menace, is this thing we call a city. There beneath you is the monster, stretching acre upon acre into the far distance. High over head hangs the stagnant pall of its fetid breath, reddened with light from myriad eyes endlessly, everywhere blinking. Thousands of acres of cellular tissue, the city's flesh outspreads layer upon layer, enmeshed by an intricate network of veins and arteries radiating into the gloom, and in them, with muffled, persistent roar, circulating as the blood circulates in your veins, is the almost ceaseless beat of the activity to whose necessities it all conforms. The poisonous waste is drawn from the system of this gigantic creature by infinitely ramifying, thread-like ducts, gathering at their sensitive terminals matter destructive of its life, hurrying it to millions of small intestines to be collected in turn by larger, flowing to the great sewers, on to the drainage canal, and finally to the ocean.

See the last chapter in Genesis where Cain, the murderer of his brother, went forth with his sons to found the city. The City is still murdering his brother.