Happiness is obsolete: uneconomic.

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.

Technology is making gestures precise and brutal, and with them men.

In the end, glorification of splendid underdogs is nothing other than glorification of the splendid system that makes them so.

Lies are told only to convey to someone that one has no need either of him or his good opinion.

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.