"Rules?" said Roark. "Here are my rules: what can be done with one substance

must never be done with another. No two materials are alike. No two sites on

earth are alike. No two buildings have the same purpose. The purpose, the site,

the material determine the shape. Nothing can be reasonable or beautiful unless

it’s made by one central idea, and the idea sets every detail. A building is

alive, like a man. Its integrity is to follow its own truth, its one single

theme, and to serve its own single purpose. A man doesn’t borrow pieces of his

body. A building doesn’t borrow hunks of its soul. Its maker gives it the soul

and every wall, window and stairway to express it."

"But all the proper forms of expression have been discovered long ago."

"Expression--of what? The Parthenon did not serve the same purpose as its wooden

ancestor. An airline terminal does not serve the same purpose as the Parthenon.

Every form has its own meaning. Every man creates his meaning and form and goal.

Why is it so important--what others have done? Why does it become sacred by the

mere fact of not being your own? Why is anyone and everyone right--so long as

it’s not yourself? Why does the number of those others take the place of truth?

Why is truth made a mere matter of arithmetic--and only of addition at that? Why

is everything twisted out of all sense to fit everything else? There must be

some reason. I don’t know. I’ve never known it. I’d like to understand."