The universe seems to me infinitely strange and foreign. At such a mom >>
The light of memory, or rather the light that memory lends to things, >>
No society has been able to abolish human sadness, no political system >>
We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out >>
Every little thing counts in a crisis. >>
I am walking over hot coals suspended over a deep pit at the bottom of >>
I believe that in the history of art and of thought there has always been at every living moment of culture a will to renewal. This is not the prerogative of the last decade only. All history is nothing but a succession of crises -- of rupture, repudiation and resistance. When there is no crisis, there is stagnation, petrifaction and death. All thought, all art is aggressive.