Boredom Is The Dream Bird That Hatches

He Who Seeks To Approach His Own Buried Past Must Conduct Himself Like A Man Digging... This Confers The Tone And Bearing Of Genuine Reminiscences. He Must Not Be Afraid To Return Again And Again To The Same Matter; To Scatter It As One Scatters Earth, To Turn It Over As One Turns Over Soil.

The Art Of Storytelling Is Reaching Its End Because The Epic Side Of Truth, Wisdom, Is Dying Out.

There Is No Muse Of Philosophy, Nor Is There One Of Translation.

In The Convulsions Of The Commodity Economy, We Begin To Recognize The Monuments Of The Bourgeoisie As Ruins Even Before They Have Crumbled.

Ideas Are To Objects As Constellations Are To Stars [translated From Trauerspiel, 1928].