“I want to find my golden joy," I said.The baron laughed loudly. "Splendid," he said. "But what does that mean to you--your golden joy?""The golden joy," I replied, "is when a peculiar flight of free thought makes it possible to see the beauty of life. Am I making myself clear?”

“It is a time of quiet joy, the sunny morning. When the glittery dew is on the mallow weeds, each leaf holds a jewel which is beautiful if not valuable. This is no time for hurry or for bustle. Thoughts are slow and deep and golden in the morning.”

“I'm not living the life I thought I would lead, but it does have meaning, purpose. There is love... there is joy... there is laughter.”

“Goldene Haar!'' he exclaims and takes one of my long braids into his hand. I am not certain I heard right. Did he say ''golden hair'' about my braids?Are you Jewish? The question startles me. ''Yes, I am Jewish.'' How old are you? I am thirteen.'' ''You are tall for your age. Is this your mother?'' He touches Mommy lightly on the shoulder. ''You go with your mother.”

“I am free,’ he said suddenly. And his joy changed, on the spot, to a crushing sense of anguish.”

“But you see," said Roark quietly, "I have, let’s say, sixty years to live. Most of that time will be spent working. I’ve chosen the work I want to do. If I find no joy in it, then I’m only condemning myself to sixty years of torture. And I can find the joy only if I do my work in the best way possible to me. But the best is a matter of standards—and I set my own standards. I inherit nothing. I stand at the end of no tradition. I may, perhaps, stand at the beginning of one.”