A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.

In the world there is, parallel to the force of death and constraint, an enormous force of persuasion that is called culture.

From the evening breeze to this hand on my shoulder, everything has its truth.

Thinking of the future, establishing aims for oneself, having preferences-all this presupposes a belief in freedom, even if one occasionally ascertains that one doesn't feel it.

Truth, like light is dazzling. By contrast, untruth is a beautiful sunset that enhances everything.

There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.

Some people talk in their sleep. Lecturers talk while other people sleep.