What could I wish for the present but to take the greatest pleasure in being what I am?

Work to survive, survive by consuming, survive to consume; the hellish cycle is complete.

The same people who are murdered slowly in the mechanized slaughterhouses of work are also arguing, singing, drinking, dancing, making love, holding the streets, picking up weapons and inventing a new poetry.

In the twentieth century, death terrifies men less than the absence of real life.

To work for delight and authentic festivity is barely distinguishable from preparing for a general insurrection

Everything has been said yet few have taken advantage of it. Since all our knowledge is essentially banal, it can only be of value to minds that are not.

In an industrial society which confuses work and productivity, the necessity of producing has always been an enemy of the desire to create.