It is the task of radical thought, since the world is given to us unintelligibly, to make it more unintelligible, more enigmatic, more fabulous.

Democracy is the menopause of Western society, the Grand Climacteric of the body social. Fascism is its middle-aged lust.

At the heart of pornography is sexuality haunted by its own disappearance.

We are becoming like cats, slyly parasitic, enjoying an indifferent domesticity. Nice and snug in the social, our historic passions have withdrawn into the glow of an artificial coziness, and our half-closed eyes now seek little other than the peaceful parade of television pictures.

The secret of theory is that truth does not exist.

It is always the same: once you are liberated, you are forced to ask who you are.

We live in a world where there is more and more information, and less and less meaning.