True thoughts are those alone which do not understand themselves.

There is something embarrassing in... the way in which, ... turning suffering into images, harsh and uncompromising though they are, ... wounds the shame we feel in the presence of the victims. For these victims are used to create something, works of art, that are thrown to the consumption of a world which destroyed them.

In the innermost recesses of humanism, as its very soul, there rages a frantic prisoner who, as a Fascist, turns the world into a prison.

Even the loveliest dream bears like a blemish its difference from reality, the awareness that what it grants is mere illusion.

The specific is not exclusive: it lacks the aspiration to totality.

The poor are prevented from thinking by the discipline of others, the rich by their own.

But he who dies in despair has lived his whole life in vain.