Quite apart from any conscious program, the great cultural historians have always been historical morphologists: seekers after theforms of life, thought, custom, knowledge, art.

Play is older than culture, for culture, however inadequately defined, always presupposes human society, and animals have not waited for man to teach them their playing.

Culture arises and unfolds in and as play... culture itself bears the character of play.

Play is a uniquely adaptive act, not subordinate to some other adaptive act, but with a special function of its own in human experience.

Every age yearns for a more beautiful world. The deeper the desperation and the depression about the confusing present, the more intense that yearning.

You can deny, if you like, nearly all abstractions: justice, beauty, truth, goodness, mind, God. You can deny seriousness, but not play.

Educators are aware that they can reach the youth only by making use of gang spirit and guiding it, not by working against it.

The eternal gulf between being and idea can only be bridged by the rainbow of imagination.

If we are to preserve culture we must continue to create it.

The modern city hardly knows a pure darkness or true silence anymore, nor does it know the effect of a single small light or that of a lonely distant shout.

Life is made too easy. Mankind's moral fibre is giving way under the softening influence of luxury.

Hitting bottom is an inside job — it's something that happens within our consciousness.

Patience is the companion of wisdom.

There are few places you can find silence. Air travel could be the last fortress of solitude.

New Jersey Mayor Corey Booker last night personally rescued a woman from a burning building. Or as Fox News reported it, 'black man loots house, steals white woman.'

Kindness is something that I feel is leaving us a little bit - people are getting more self-involved.

The world is unable to provide any account of its own actuality, and yet there it is all the same.

It's not like I'm a rookie pilot. In fact, I invented airplanes. And air.

Write me as one who loves his fellow men.

Struggling over my fickle heart, love draws it now this way, and now hate that--but love, I think, is winning. I will hate, if I have strength; if not, I shall love unwilling.

The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.