The Final Goal Of Human Effort Is

Mechanical Instruments, Potentially A Vehicle Of Rational Human Purposes, Are Scarcely A Blessing When They Enable The Gossip Of The Village Idiot And The Deeds Of The Thug To Be Broadcast To A Million People Each Day.

The City Is A Fact In Nature, Like A Cave, A Run Of Mackerel Or An Ant-heap. But It Is Also A Conscious Work Of Art, And It Holds Within Its Communal Framework Many Simpler And More Personal Forms Of Art. Mind Takes Form In The City; And In Turn, Urban Forms Condition Mind.

He Who Touches The Soil Of Manhattan And The Pavement Of New York, Touches, Whenever He Knows Or Not, Walt Whitman.

When Vitality Runs High, Death Takes Men By Surprise. But If They Close Their Eyes To This Possibility, What They Gain In Peace They Lose In Sensibility And Significance.

Because Of Their Origin And Purpose, The Meanings Of Art Are Of A Different Order From The Operational Meanings Of Science And Technics: They Relate, Not To External Means And Consequences, But To Internal Transformations, And Unless It Produce These Internal Transformations The Work Of Art Is Either Perfunctory Or Dead.