Happiness Is Obsolete: Uneconomic.

He Who Matures Early Lives In Anticipation.

So The Experience Of Death Is Turned Into That Of The Exchange Of Functionaries, And Anything In The Natural Relationship To Death That Is Not Wholly Absorbed Into The Social One Is Turned Over To Hygiene. In Being Seen As No More Than The Exit Of A Living Creature From The Social Combine, Death Has Been Domesticated: Dying Merely Confirms The Absolute Irrelevance Of The Natural Organism In Face Of The Social Absolute.

Kitsch Parodies Catharsis...it Is In Vain To Try To Draw The Boundaries Abstractly Between Aesthetic Fiction And Kitsch's Emotional Plunder. It Is A Poison Admixed To All Art; Excising It Is Today One Of Art's Despairing Efforts.

There Is No Love That Is Not An Echo.

There Are No More Ideologies In The Authentic Sense Of False Consciousness, Only Advertisements For The World Through Its Duplication And The Provocative Lie Which Does Not Seek Belief But Commands Silence.