Counsel woven into the fabric of real life is wisdom.

Bourgeois existence is the regime of private affairs . . . and the family is the rotten, dismal edifice in whose closets and crannies the most ignominious instincts are deposited. Mundane life proclaims the total subjugation of eroticism to privacy.

Only for the sake of the hopeless ones have we been given hope.

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

The camera introduces us to unconscious optics as does psychoanalysis to unconscious impulses.

We have long forgotten the ritual by which the house of our life was erected. But when it is under assault and enemy bombs are already taking their toll, what enervated, perverse antiquities do they not lay bare in the foundations.

We collect books in the belief that we are preserving them when in fact it is the books that preserve their collector.