Proletarian language is dictated by hunger. The poor chew words to fill their bellies.

He who stands aloof runs the risk of believing himself better than others and misusing his critique of society as an ideology for his private interest.

Death is imposed only on creatures, not their creations, and has therefore always appeared in art in a broken form: as allegory.

None of the abstract concepts comes closer to fulfilled utopia than that of eternal peace.

He who matures early lives in anticipation.

In the end, glorification of splendid underdogs is nothing other than glorification of the splendid system that makes them so.

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