The gods look in pleasure on penitent sinners.
One must have tradition in oneself, to hate it properly.
Suffering has as much right to be expressed as a martyr has to cry out. So it may have been false to say that writing poetry after Auschwitz is impossible.
In the end indignation over kitsch is anger at tis shameless revelling in the joy of imitation.
Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.
The almost insoluble task is to let neither the power of others, nor our own powerlessness, stupefy us.