So Long As The System Of Competition

I Have Said As Much As That The Aim Of Art Was To Destroy The Curse Of Labour By Making Work The Pleasurable Satisfaction Of Our Impulse Towards Energy, And Giving To That Energy Hope Of Producing Something Worth Its Exercise.

You May Hang Your Walls With Tapestry Insread Of Whitewash Or Paper; Or You May Cover Them With Mosaic; Or Have Them Frescoed By A Great Painter: All This Is Not Luxury, If It Be Done For Beauty's Sake, And Not For Show: It Does Not Break Our Golden Rule: Have Nothing In Your Houses Which You Do Not Know To Be Useful Or Believe To Be Beautiful.

Whiles In The Early Winter Eve We Pass Amid The Gathering Night Some Homestead That We Had To Leave Years Past; And See Its Candles Bright Shine In The Room Beside The Door Where We Were Merry Years Agone But Now Must Never Enter More, As Still The Dark Road Drives Us On. E'en So The World Of Men May Turn At Even Of Some Hurried Day And See The Ancient Glimmer Burn Across The Waste That Hath No Way; Then With That Faint Light In Its Eyes A While I Bid It Linger Near And Nurse In Wavering Memories The Bitter-sweet Of Days That Were.

The True Secret Of Happiness Lies In Taking A Genuine Interest In All The Details Of Daily Life.

Art Made By The People For The People, As A Joy To The Maker And The User.