The joke of our time is the suicide of intention.

Today self-consciousness no longer means anything but reflection on the ego as embarrassment, as realization of impotence: knowing that one is nothing.

Exuberant health is always, as such, sickness also.

Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.

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

An emancipated society, on the other hand, would not be a unitary state, but the realization of universality in the reconciliation of differences.

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.