Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.
Art is the social antithesis of society, not directly deducible from it.
Proletarian language is dictated by hunger. The poor chew words to fill their bellies.
That all men are alike is exactly what society would like to hear. It considers actual or imagined differences as stigmas indicating that not enough has yet been done; that something has still been left outside its machinery, not quite determined by its totality.
Everything that has ever been called folk art has always reflected domination.
Happiness is obsolete: uneconomic.