What should I say about life? That it's long and abhors transparence.

After all, it is hard to master both life and work equally well. So if you are bound to fake one of them, it had better be life.

No matter under what circumstances you leave it, home does not cease to be home. No matter how you lived there - well or poorly.

Perhaps art is simply an organism's reaction against its retentive limitations.

Racism? But isn't it only a form of misanthropy?

Language and, presumably, literature are more ancient and inevitable, more durable than any form of social organization. The revulsion, irony, or indifference often expressed by literature toward the state is essentially the reaction of the permanent-better yet, the infinite-against the temporary, against the finite.

There's nothing as dear as the sight of ruins.