Art is magic delivered from the lie of being truth.

Truth is inseperable from the illusory belief that from the figures of the unreal one day, in spite of all, real deliverance will come.

Everything that has ever been called folk art has always reflected domination.

The human is indissolubly linked with imitation: a human being only becomes human at all by imitating other human beings.

A pencil and rubber are of more use to thought than a battalion of assistants. To happiness the same applies as to truth: one does not have it, but is in it.

In the end the soul is itself the longing of the soulless for salvation.