The longing for order is at the same time a longing for death, because life is an incessant disruption of order.

Nothing requires a greater effort of thought than arguments to justify the rule of non-thought.

Before we are forgotten, we will be turned into kitsch. Kitsch is the stopover between being and oblivion.

To ensure that the self doesn't shrink, to see that it holds on to its volume, memories have to be watered like potted flowers, and the watering calls for regular contact with the witnesses of the past, that is to say, with friends.

For Sabina, living in truth, lying neither to ourselves nor to others, was possible only away from the public: the moment someone keeps an eye on what we do, we involuntarily make allowances for that eye, and nothing we do is truthful. Having a public, keeping a public in mind, means living in lies.

Let us consider the critic, therefore, as a discoverer of discoveries.

People are always shouting they want to create a better future. It's not true. The future is an apathetic void of no interest to anyone.