“If you’re into architecture and you’re from the West, everything is hors d’oeuvres for working to rebuild the Temple. Ultimately you’re led there. You can’t escape it.”

I’m not an expert, but I want to be.

I’m just interested in meditating on certain ideas, and I like to draw: that’s my way of thinking.

You can just drift unhappily towards this vision of heaven on earth, and ultimately that is what architecture is a vision of: Heaven on earth, at it’s best.

The beast for me is greed. Whether you read Dante, Swift, or any of these guys, it always boils down to the same thing: the corruption of the soul.

I’m not an expert, but I want to be.

What I feel bad about is not having published very much in the last few years.

I started producing work with an ecstatic addiction.

We are pushing hard to find quality advertising clients.

When I left school I went on trip around the world – I only got as far as Australia, but like a bloody fool I cut it short because of a girl. It’s probably one of my big regrets in life.

I haven’t done any building designs since the Loaf House.

I deeply believe in pluralism. I believe in the close proximity of multiple systems or agnostic systems.

I haven’t done any building designs since the Loaf House.

I’m interested in locating the holy grail of the minimum means to express the most complex ideas.

Student journeys which were important to me were Sicily, Greece, and Egypt, where I really saw these buildings, and that is where you’re able to grasp what things mean.

I have a book of buildings from 25,000 BC. These are huts built out of mammoth bones. These buildings were beautifully made, from the bones of the body into shelter.

Painting’ and ‘religious experience’ are the same thing. It is a question of the perpetual motion of a right idea.

This chanting of the Hare Krishna mantra is enacted from the spiritual platform and thus this sound vibration surpasses all lower strata of consciouness – namely sensual, mental and intellectual.

There is but one temple in the universe, and that is the body of man.

Burnt mirror, smeared glass. Do you like what you see? If my body is a temple, then my poetry is the darkest vestry. My mouth is a chalice, and these words are sacramental.

I am not my thoughts. I am the temple that hears the whispers of them.

Do everything as if He were dwelling in us. Thus we shall be His temples and He will be within us as our God – as He actually is.

The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.

Anybody who has been seriously engaged in scientific work of any kind realizes that over the entrance to the gates of the temple of science are written the words: ‘Ye must have faith.’

There is a shrine in the temple of age, where lie forever embalmed the memories of such as have deserved well of their country and their race.