Life is rich, always changing, always challenging, and we architects have the task of transmitting into wood, concrete, glass and steel, of transforming human aspirations into habitable and meaningful space.
Remember, a chip on the shoulder is a sure sign of wood higher up.
When I would recreate myself, I seek the darkest wood, the thickest and most interminable, and to the citizen, most dismal swamp. I enter a swamp as a sacred place - a sanctum sanctorum. There is the strength, the marrow of Nature.
In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.
Age appears to be best in four things; old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.
Aim for the chopping block. If you aim for the wood, you will have nothing. Aim past the wood, aim through the wood; aim for the chopping block.
Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.
The logs of wood which move down the river together Are driven apart by every wave. Such inevitable parting Should not be the cause of misery.
Men are idolaters, and want something to look at and kiss and hug, or throw themselves down before; they always did, they always will, and if you don't make it of wood, you must make it of words.
A bass should sound like a bass with the thump of the finger against the wood, like it began with stand up.
Men admire the man who can organize their wishes and thoughts in stone and wood and steel and brass.
Without touch we are but hunks of wood.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
They wander in deep woods, in mournful light, Amid long reeds and drowsy headed poppies And lakes where no wave laps, and voiceless streams, Upon whose banks in the dim light grow old Flowers that were once bewaild names of kings.
When I was a child, I was terrified by this. It was very sinister, wasn't it? It just went on and on, like Dante's seventh circle of Hell. I recently found out there was a secret middle section deemed unsuitable for small children. There's about four hours of this, then it all starts to go a bit weird. I am Zebedee, lord of the woods! Bow down snail, I have dominion!
I had rather be a pot-bellied seed cowcumber, flung carelessly on a wood pile to ripen, than tew be an old bachelor.
Wherever wood can swim, there I am sure to find this flag of England.
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