Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.

When I made my theoretical model, I could not have guessed that people would try to realise it with Molotov cocktails.

There is no love that is not an echo.

Kitsch parodies catharsis...It is in vain to try to draw the boundaries abstractly between aesthetic fiction and kitsch's emotional plunder. It is a poison admixed to all art; excising it is today one of art's despairing efforts.

Art as a whole is a riddle. Another way of putting this is to say that art expresses something while at the same time hiding it.

The inadequacy of the purely purpose-oriented form is revealed for what it is-a monotonous, impoverished boring practicality.

Today self-consciousness no longer means anything but reflection on the ego as embarrassment, as realization of impotence: knowing that one is nothing.