It is barbaric to write poetry after Auschwitz.

In his state of complete powerlessness the individual perceives the time he has left to live as a brief reprieve.

Rampant technolgy eliminates luxury, but not by declaring privilege a human right; rather, it does so by both raising the general standard of living and cutting off the possibility of fulfilment.

Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.

The man for whom time stretches out painfully is one waiting in vain, disappointed at not finding tomorrow already continuing yesterday.

Auschwitz begins wherever someone looks at a slaughterhouse and thinks: they’re only animals.

The dialectic cannot stop short before the conceptsof health and sickness, nor indeed before their siblings reason and unreason.