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

An emancipated society, on the other hand, would not be a unitary state, but the realization of universality in the reconciliation of differences.

Exuberant health is always, as such, sickness also.

Quality is decided by the depth at which the work incorporates the alternatives within itself, and so masters them.

Happiness is obsolete: uneconomic.

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.

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.