"What a fearful thing is it that any language should have a word expressive of the pleasure which men feel at the calamities of others; for the existence of the word bears testimony to the existence of the thing."
Penetration to the harsh reality that architects inhabit?
I'm especially sensitive to this issue, because like Kaufman I'm an architect and I do a lot of junk. I do the junk because my clients and the building laws they operate under demand the junk. It's absolutely non-negotiable; if I didn't provide it, they would just get someone else to do it, I would go out of business, my family would lose the roof over their head, and I would move into a box on Broome Street.
As any art historian will tell you, Verocchio needed Lorenzo de Medici to do art.
99% of what is built commercially is junk; outside New York, it's 99.99%. Is there anything non-residential at all built in say, Charlotte that isn't junk? All those evil, stupid architects ... and I'm one of them.
I dream of beauty. She comes to me in the drowsy minutes ... , a dream more romantic than scarlet pagodas by a silver sea.
For years the fairy child had come to him. Where others saw but Georgie Babbitt, she discerned gallant youth. She waited for him, in the darkness beyond mysterious groves. When at last he could slip away from the crowded house he darted to her ... She was so slim, so white, so eager! She cried that he was gay and valiant, that she would wait for him, that they would sail--
Unaware, oblivious, stupid ... he was the engine driver on the train to Auschwitz.
He who had been a boy very credulous of life was no longer greatly interested in the possible and improbable adventures of each new day.
He escaped from reality till the alarm-clock rang, at seven-twenty.
And reaching for his laptop, he went to see what Fabrizio had had to say that morning.
If I had it to do over, I'd probably go into fashion design.
Italicized words by Sinclair Lewis.