Books And Harlots Have Their Quarrels In

Things Are Only Mannequins And Even The Great World-historical Events Are Only Costumes Beneath Which They Exchange Glances With Nothingness.

[photography] Has Become More And More Subtle, More And More Modern, And The Result Is That It Is Now Incapable Of Photographing A Tenement Or A Rubbish Heap Without Transfiguring It. Not To Mention A River Dam Or Electric Cable Factory: In Front Of These, Photography Can Now Only Say, How Beautiful!

The Only Way Of Knowing A Person Is To Love Them Without Hope.

Less And Less Frequently Do We Encounter People With The Ability To Tell A Tale Properly. More And More Often There Is Embarrassment All Around When The Wish To Hear A Story Is Expressed. It Is As If Something That Seemed Inalienable To Us, The Securest Among Our Possessions, Were Taken From Us: The Ability To Exchange Our Experiences...experience Has Fallen In Value. And It Looks As If It Is Continuing To Fall Into Bottomlessness.

In Other Words, The Unique Value Of The "authentic" Work Of Art Has Its Basis In Ritual, The Location Of Its Original Use Value. This Ritualistic Basis, However Remote, Is Still Recognizable As Secularized Ritual Even In The Most Profane Forms Of The Cult Of Beauty.