In the convulsions of the commodity economy, we begin to recognize the monuments of the bourgeoisie as ruins even before they have crumbled.

Living substance conquers the frenzy of destruction only in the ecstasy of procreation.

As long as there is still one beggar around, there will still be myth.

Death is the sanction of everything that the storyteller can tell. He has borrowed his authority from death.

It is only for those without hope that hope is given.

He who observes etiquette but objects to lying is like someone who dresses fashionably but wears no vest.

All human knowledge takes the form of interpretation.