Art Is The Social Antithesis Of Society,

The Phrase, The World Wants To Be Deceived, Has Become Truer Than Had Ever Been Intended. People Are Not Only, As The Saying Goes, Falling For The Swindle; If It Guarantees Them Even The Most Fleeting Gratification They Desire A Deception Which Is Nonetheless Transparent To Them. They Force Their Eyes Shut And Voice Approval, In A Kind Of Self-loathing, For What Is Meted Out To Them, Knowing Fully The Purpose For Which It Is Manufactured. Without Admitting It They Sense That Their Lives Would Be Completely Intolerable As Soon As They No Longer Clung To Satisfactions Which Are None At All.

Thinking No Longer Means Anymore Than Checking At Each Moment Whether One Can Indeed Think.

Indeed, Happiness Is Nothing Other Than Being Encompassed, An After-image Of The Original Shelter Within The Mother. But For This Reason No One Who Is Happy Can Know That He Is So. To See Happiness, He Would Have To Pass Out Of It: To Be As If Already Born. He Who Says He Is Happy Lies, And In Invoking Happiness, Sins Against It. He Alone Keeps Faith Who Says: I Was Happy.

When I Made My Theoretical Model, I Could Not Have Guessed That People Would Try To Realise It With Molotov Cocktails.

Kitsch Parodies Catharsis...it Is In Vain To Try To Draw The Boundaries Abstractly Between Aesthetic Fiction And Kitsch's Emotional Plunder. It Is A Poison Admixed To All Art; Excising It Is Today One Of Art's Despairing Efforts.