The mother art is architecture. Without an architecture of our own we have no soul of our own civilization.

The mother art is architecture. Without an architecture of our own we have no soul of our own civilization.

An architect is the drawer of dreams

An architect is the drawer of dreams

For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down
the middle wall of partition read more

For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and hath broken down
the middle wall of partition between us; . . .

Ah, to build, to build!
That is the noblest of all the arts.

Ah, to build, to build!
That is the noblest of all the arts.

Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As best gem upon her zone.

Earth proudly wears the Parthenon
As best gem upon her zone.

The hand that rounded Peter's dome
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad read more

The hand that rounded Peter's dome
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad sincerity;
Himself from God he could not free;
He builded better than he knew;
The conscious stone to beauty grew.

I don't build in order to have clients. I have clients in order to build.

I don't build in order to have clients. I have clients in order to build.

The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and read more

The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and their lives
Were builded, with his own, into the walls,
As offerings unto God.

No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung,
Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.
Majestic silence.

No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung,
Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.
Majestic silence.