A Civilization Is A Heritage Of Beliefs,

The Job Has Its Grandeurs, Yes. There Is The Exultation Of Arriving Safely After A Storm, The Joy Of Gliding Down Out Of The Darkness Of Night Or Tempest Toward A Sun-drenched Alicante Or Santiago; There Is The Swelling Sense Of Returning To Repossess One's Place In Life, In The Miraculous Garden Of Earth, Where Are Trees And Women And, Down By The Harbor, Friendly Little Bars. When He Has Throttled His Engine And Is Banking Into The Airport, Leaving The Somber Cloud Masses Behind, What Pilot Does Not Break Into Song?

You Become Responsible For A Long Time For What You've Tamed.

Commonly, People Believe That Defeat Is Characterized By A General Bustle And A Feverish Rush. Bustle And Rush Are The Signs Of Victory, Not Of Defeat. Victory Is A Thing Of Action. It Is A House In The Act Of Being Built. Every Participant In Victory Sweats And Puffs, Carrying The Stones For The Building Of The House. But Defeat Is A Thing Of Weariness, Of Incoherence, Of Boredom. And Above All Of Futility.

The Machine Does Not Isolate Man From The Great Problems Of Nature But Plunges Him More Deeply Into Them.

It's Useful Because It's Beautiful.