In the end indignation over kitsch is anger at tis shameless revelling in the joy of imitation.

The gods look in pleasure on penitent sinners.

There is no true life within a false life.

In many people it is already an impertinence to say 'I'.

In psycho-analysis nothing is true except the exaggerations.

Indeed, happiness is nothing other than being encompassed, an after-image of the original shelter within the mother. But for this reason no one who is happy can know that he is so. To see happiness, he would have to pass out of it: to be as if already born. He who says he is happy lies, and in invoking happiness, sins against it. He alone keeps faith who says: I was happy.

Intelligence is a moral category.