A hundred times have I thought New York is a catastrophe and 50 times: It is a beautiful catastrophe.
Architecture is the learned game, correct and magnificent, of forms assembled in the light.
A house is a machine for living in.
Space and light and order. Those are the things that men need just as much as they need bread or a place to sleep.
Our world, like a charnel-house, is strewn with the detritus of dead epochs.
Modern life demands, and is waiting for, a new kind of plan, both for the house and the city.
The city of Chandigarh is planned to human scale. It puts us in touch with the infinite cosmos and nature. It provides us with places and buildings for all human activities by which the citizens can live a full and harmonious life. Here the radiance of nature and heart are within our reach.
You employ stone, wood and concrete, and with these materials you build houses and palaces. That is construction. Ingenuity is at work. But suddenly you touch my heart, you do me good, I am happy and I say: This is beautiful. That is Architecture. Art enters in.
The age of personal statues is gone. No personal statues shall be erected in the city or parks of Chandigarh. The city is planned to breathe the new sublimated spirit of art. Commemoration of persons shall be confined to suitably placed bronze plaques.
A hundred times I have thought: New York is a catastrophe, and fifty times: it is a beautiful catastrophe.
The home should be the treasure chest of living.
To create architecture is to put in order. Put what in order? Function and objects.
The styles are a lie.
It is a question of building which is at the root of the social unrest of today: architecture or revolution.
Vehicular traffic is completely forbidden in the green strips, where tranquility shall reign and the curse of noise shall not penetrate.