The Task Of Art Today Is To

The Human Is Indissolubly Linked With Imitation: A Human Being Only Becomes Human At All By Imitating Other Human Beings.

If Time Is Money, It Seems Moral To Save Time, Above All One's Own, And Such Parsimony Is Excused By Consideration For Others. One Is Straight-forward.

In So Far As The Culture Industry Arouses A Feeling Of Well-being That The World Is Precisely In That Order Suggested By The Culture Industry, The Substitute Gratification Which It Prepares For Human Beings Cheats Them Out Of The Same Happiness Which It Deceitfully Projects.

In His State Of Complete Powerlessness The Individual Perceives The Time He Has Left To Live As A Brief Reprieve.

The Culture Industry Perpetually Cheats Its Consumers Of What It Perpetually Promises. The Promissory Note Which, With Its Plots And Staging, It Draws On Pleasure Is Endlessly Prolonged; The Promise, Which Is Actually All The Spectacle Consists Of, Is Illusory: All It Actually Confirms Is That The Real Point Will Never Be Reached, That The Diner Must Be Satisfied With The Menu.