There is no true life within a false life.

The individual mirrors in his individuation the preordained social laws of exploitation, however mediated.

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

Once the last trace of emotion has been eradicated, nothing remains of thought but absolute tautology.

The almost insoluble task is to let neither the power of others, nor our own powerlessness, stupefy us.

Love is the power to see similarity in the dissimilar.

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.