Estrangement shows itself precisely in the elimination of distance between people.
In many people it is already an impertinence to say 'I'.
Only a humanity to whom death has become as indifferent as its members, that has itself died, can inflict it administratively on innumerable people.
When I made my theoretical model, I could not have guessed that people would try to realise it with Molotov cocktails.
Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.
But he who dies in despair has lived his whole life in vain.
Life has become the ideology of its own absence.
If time is money, it seems moral to save time, above all one's own, and such parsimony is excused by consideration for others. One is straight-forward.
A pencil and rubber are of more use to thought than a battalion of assistants. To happiness the same applies as to truth: one does not have it, but is in it.
Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.
Truth is inseperable from the illusory belief that from the figures of the unreal one day, in spite of all, real deliverance will come.
Love is the power to see similarity in the dissimilar.
The almost insoluble task is to let neither the power of others, nor our own powerlessness, stupefy us.
The good man is he who rules himself as he does his own property: his autonomous being is modelled on material power.
Art is permitted to survive only if it renounces the right to be different, and integrates itself into the omnipotent realm of the profane.