The joke of our time is the suicide of intention.

And how comfortless is the thought that the sickness of the normal does not necessarily imply as its opposite the health of the sick, but that the latter usually only present, in a different way, the same disastrous pattern.

The joke of our time is the suicide of intention.

In the innermost recesses of humanism, as its very soul, there rages a frantic prisoner who, as a Fascist, turns the world into a prison.

The human is indissolubly linked with imitation: a human being only becomes human at all by imitating other human beings.

No harm comes to man from outside alone: dumbness is the objective spirit.

It would be advisable to think of progress in the crudest, most basic terms: that no one should go hungry anymore, that there should be no more torture, no more Auschwitz. Only then will the idea of progress be free from lies.