The gods look in pleasure on penitent sinners.

Kitsch parodies catharsis...It is in vain to try to draw the boundaries abstractly between aesthetic fiction and kitsch's emotional plunder. It is a poison admixed to all art; excising it is today one of art's despairing efforts.

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

Truth is inseperable from the illusory belief that from the figures of the unreal one day, in spite of all, real deliverance will come.

There is no love that is not an echo.

Not only is the self entwined in society; it owes society its existence in the most literal sense.

True thoughts are those alone which do not understand themselves.