In psycho-analysis nothing is true except the exaggerations.

And how comfortless is the thought that the sickness of the normal does not necessarily imply as its opposite the health of the sick, but that the latter usually only present, in a different way, the same disastrous pattern.

For a man who no longer has a homeland, writing becomes a place to live.

Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.

All satire is blind to the forces liberated by decay. Which is why total decay has absorbed the forces of satire.

Jazz is the false liquidation of art - instead of utopia becoming reality it disappears from the picture.

There is no love that is not an echo.