Thus is order ensured: some have to play the game because they cannot otherwise live, and those who could live otherwise are kept out because they do not want to play the game. It is as if the class from which independent intellectuals have defected takes its revenge, by pressing its demands home in the very domain where the deserter seeks refuge.

The individual mirrors in his individuation the preordained social laws of exploitation, however mediated.

The man for whom time stretches out painfully is one waiting in vain, disappointed at not finding tomorrow already continuing yesterday.

Talent is perhaps nothing other than successfully sublimated rage.

He who has loved and who betrays love does harm not only to the image of the past, but to the past itself.

Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.

Freedom would be not to choose between black and white but to abjure such prescribed choices.