To be happy is to be able to become aware of oneself without fright.

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

Ideas are to objects as constellations are to stars [translated from Trauerspiel, 1928].

The illiterate of the future will not be the man who cannot read the alphabet, but the one who cannot take a photograph.

The concept of progress must be grounded in the idea of catastrophe. That things are 'status quo' is the catastrophe

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.

For what is the program of the bourgeois parties? A bad poem on springtime, filled to bursting with metaphors.